The Imperial House of Dragon
by ladyjane025
Summary: Zuko and Katara. Zutara. Zuko is part of an elite force fighting Koh's faceless spirits. The other nations are forced to pay protection tributes to stem the tide of Koh. The Southern Water tribe doesn't have enough funds. To spare Sokka's sacrifice to Koh, Katara offers her services in exchange. Will she find any allies or end up on the pyre of betrayal?
1. Chapter 1

**Warning:** This story will have  sex and violence. _Please be aware and fully warned before reading!_

 **Disclaimer:** By Yue, I do not own any rights to _Avatar the Last Airbender_.

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Katara grips the railing of the Southern Water Tribe's royal vessel. The most impressive ship out of the Noble House of Blue Orca's fleet is insignificant next to the metal monstrosities clogging the imperial waterways. While the tribe's sailing craft may be small in comparison, its compact size allows it to traverse vast distances and slip effortlessly around obstacles.

The Blue Orca's mainsail and jib sheet are fully inflated, embracing the winds. Harnessing the natural power, its pointed bow glides through the ocean waters. The boat steadily cruises towards the docks lining the wharf. The Southern Water Tribe's mode of peaceful sailing is markedly different than the other surrounding ships. Giant grinding engines and belching smoke stacks exert mechanized authority within the confines of the harbor. Black plumes of soot and ash tinge the afternoon light, giving the sky a hazy quality.

Katara watches the bustling Imperial Marina with trepidation. Standing safely on the Blue Orca's main deck, she drums her blunt nails on the wooden railing. Soon, the life Katara has known will slip from her grasp, and there is nothing she can do to prevent its inevitable conclusion. A sickness of dread washes over her, causing her legs to wobble.

Sokka glances over, noticing his sister's white face and weak knees. "We'll be on dry land soon enough. Don't go getting all leg-slushy now."

Katara grips the railing more firmly. She regains steadier footing. Tossing her head, her long braid loops over her shoulder and falls down the front of her blue shift. The simple dress allows for comfort with the heightened temperatures of the tropical climate.

Katara bristles over the teasing from her brother. "When have I ever gotten leg-slushy?" She pretends to reflect while sporting a mischievous grin. "If I recall correctly, the first time you got on Dad's boat, you were the one gifting the waters with partially digested sea-slug stew, not me."

Sokka chortles loudly and then rubs his chin beard thoughtfully. "Alright, I deserved that, but now that I'm twenty-one, can't you let your big bro gain some of his dignity back and let that story finally die."

The mention of death snatches away the brief moment of levity between the siblings, reminding Sokka and Katara the real reason they were sailing into the Imperial City's harbor. It wasn't for some ordinary trading endeavor, but the required yearly tribute. The protection payment provided a fire buffer, preventing the faceless demons from taking another soul into their fold. The Southern Tribe had lost so many of its members to Koh. Katara touches the pendant at the nape of her neck. She briefly shut her eyes; even her own family hadn't been immune to Koh's wrath.

Sokka guides the tiller toward the left, narrowly missing a barge brimming with stacked cargo of braying cow-pigs. Watching the noisy crates sail past, Sokka shakes his head. "I'd hate to be the lowest level cow-pig on that barge, that's gotta be a shite to behold and smell."

Katara giggles, "Good one, Sokka." A feeling of shared mirth relaxes the siblings.

Sokka returns his focus to his duty of steering, and Katara resumes watching the looming wharf. The bustling naval pier booms with activity. Sounds mingle in the warm salty air. Orders and jeers drift along with the wind, in and out of Katara's hearing. Those same warm whiffs caress her tan skin, tingle her senses. Her fingers clamp upon the railing, digging into the polished wood with anticipation.

The agony of the trip has grown, not abated. A month at sea hadn't lessened what must be done to maintain the village's safety. The decision wasn't arrived at easily either. Long nights were spent huddled within the great ice hall; an intricate ice structure built at the height of the Southern Water Tribe's shipbuilding prowess. Delicate carvings on the thick ice walls boast of the days when the Southern Tribe was a thriving community. Their numbers could fill the hall, swelling out into the snowy courtyards. The relics to those days remain frozen upon the icy walls. The community's dwindling members mock those legacies, making the hall seem even more empty and hollow. The collective Southern Tribe knew the answer to the lack of funds upon the onset, but it took many endless nights and long days of intense debate to resign them to the fact: _for the good of all, what must be done, will be done, so mote it be._

Katara's tribe may have accepted the bitter fate, but she refused to abide. She was determined to find another way. Once the traveling party had been selected, the journey commenced immediately. Katara had prayed ceaselessly during the trip for another solution, rather than one they were sailing towards. When the leopard dolphins appeared next to the Blue Orca, the crew rejoiced over the signs of good luck and a guaranteed safe passage, but the animals' presence provided little comfort for Katara.

The yellow spotted creatures had continued to follow the Blue Orca's frothy wake, right up to the fiery boundary which marked the edge of the imperial waters. Swerving away from the wall of fire, the animals' sleek forms were going to return once again towards the southern hunting grounds. Before the animals could swim away and Katara's last chance at clemency would have escaped, she had called out to the leopard dolphins in the ancient tongue, a language almost forgotten and rarely spoken aloud anymore. Gran Gran had instructed her precious grandchildren in all of the old ways, hoping that not everything would be lost to the tribe.

Katara had sung out her plea. " _Brother and Sister of fast waters,_ _search out the Great Blue Orca; ask the Great One to help his chosen people!"_ The leopard dolphins idled, while her sweet melody had bounced over the tops of the waves. The swiftest creatures of the ocean clicked to each other, the leader then did a majestic back flip, with much fanfare from the tribe, and finally the whole pod departed.

The random passing crew members, who had paused near Katara, listened to her lovely little song. None of her fellow tribesmen could fathom the brief chorale's deeper meaning, nor desired to search out why Katara had sung it to the leopard dolphins.

A moment of peace had descended upon Katara; perhaps her request would reach the Great One. The most ancient of sea creatures in all of the oceans, the Great Blue Orca would find an answer to their desperate quandary. Katara had been raised upon the sailors' stories where the Great One had granted wishes like the fabled Turtle Lions.

A glimmer of worry had wormed its way into Katara's optimism. _What if those tales are lies, a breeding ground for dashed hopes?_ The Blue Orcas were the largest animals in the world, fierce predators, and sacred to the Southern Tribe. Once plentiful to the oceans, the whales had slowly disappeared until hardly sighted anymore. A similar fate had happened to their tribe, when the world no longer desired handcrafted ships, preferring modern technology to tradition. It didn't help that their skillful waterbenders were snatched away, and then there was Koh's army of soulless wanders waiting beyond the flame border, eager for fresh victims.

Katara glances up from her ruminations. The dock is imminent, and the reality is much more tangible as the Blue Orca sails closer to the pier. Feelings of immense anger well up within Katara. She is completely rudderless, adrift upon a sea of choices that are out of her control. Suddenly, a ball of water rises from the ocean, hovering in front of her blue eyes. Startled, she stumbles back, and the water crashes back into the sea.

"Katara!" Sokka chokes out, glancing about him. There is no sudden cry of alarm, so he calms himself. "Katara, you know waterbending in public is forbidden."

"I'm sorry, Sokka." Katara holds open her hands and stares at her empty palms. She runs the pads of her fingers along her life lines, tracing the pathways. "I didn't mean to do it. I felt so useless," She looks up, pleading for her brother to understand, "it just happened."

Sokka leans in closer to his sister and whispers fiercely. "I know, but if the Imperial Elemental Forces should find out that we have a powerful water bender and didn't report it. We could lose you forever." He reaches out and touches her arm, "I wouldn't want that." Clearing his throat, he returns his hand to the tiller and deepens his voice with brotherly bravado. "None of us would want that."

"We don't know if any of what they say is true about the waterbenders."

Sokka's eyes narrow with anger. "Then why are you the only waterbender left in our tribe?"

"There is Master Pakku." Katara finds the irony that the Imperial Elemental Forces discounted the most powerful waterbender for being too old, thus not worthy to commandeer for their elite army.

"Yes, there is Master Pakku and you."

"And me," Katara replies sadly. She chuckles when reflecting upon the nicknames designed by Sokka to peeve her. "Besides, don't you mean hydro-warping or spooky water magic?" She wiggles her fingers and makes eerie sounds.

Sokka's mouth tilts up. "That hydro-warping is what makes you special."

It used to infuriate her when her brother would taunt her with his made-up insults. Now, it only fuels her sadness. The lopsided grin which graces Sokka's face may appear carefree; but Katara knows the subtle difference between her brother's smiling countenance of joy and that of worry. His true smile of happiness could chase away Katara's tears and bolster her when everything seemed so bleak and hopeless.

With slightly damp eyes, Katara focuses her attention upon her brother. "Sokka, I love you so much."

The same breeze that stroked Katara's exposed arms and face, tug and tease Sokka, yanking his wolf tail and pulling at his beard. "You will do great things, Katara." He swallows the lump in his throat. "I wish I could be there to see them."

Katara's blue eyes flash with frustration. "Why, Sokka, why must it be you?"

"Katara, don't do this."

"No, there has to be another way." Katara insists with vehemence. "I _know_ there is another way."

Sokka's grip tightens upon the rudder. "This _is_ no other way! I will save my people from Koh!" He inhales the briny air. It stings his lungs, but reminds him that he is still alive. "I will do anything to protect those that I love." Sokka's jaw tightens, and he steels himself again. Looking away from his stricken sister, he glances out toward the prow. "Dad!"

Hakoda stands at the tip of the Blue Orca's bow, resting his weight against the glossy dorsal fin of the great beast which juts out over the waves. The prow had been sculpted into an almost lifelike depiction of the Blue Orca species. The ornamental head had been painted a brilliant blue and engraved with tribe's native symbols for power. Hakoda runs his hand along the master carving. Inspecting the handiwork, no flaws can be located, nor would they be, if made by the Southern Water Tribe. It is truly a labor of ingenuity and beauty.

"It is time." Hakoda slaps the back of the Blue Orca's prow and swings around. Standing astride with his hands folded behind his back, his stance and demeanor reflect his noble line and status of chief. "Sokka, ready the ship for docking!" Hakoda commences barking out orders to the rest of his crew. "Man the sails! Make haste for the slip and prime the lines!"

Crew members dash about the main deck, navigating the details of mooring, tying down the Blue Orca's rigging, and deploying midship spring lines. The fenders are tossed over and bump against the sides of the boat.

Hakoda strides across the polished deck, moving toward his son and daughter. A father stands between his children; he smiles down at Katara and looks proudly upon Sokka.

Hugging his daughter to his side, Hakoda places his arm across the shoulders of his son. "By the moon, I love you both."

Katara and Sokka answer simultaneously, echoing their father's loving sentiment. "By the moon, we love you."

Sokka points toward the open slip. Hakoda squeezes his son's shoulder briefly. He lowers his voice, speaking with the authority of experience. "When we reach ashore, stick close, the Imperial City is full of depraved sights. Be wary, but even more careful once we reach court; that den is where the most dangerous vipers lie to strike."

"The Fire Lord should change his house sign from dragon to snake." Sokka jokes with a hard edge of truth.

Hakoda echoes a hollow laugh. "Truer words were never spoken, my son." He reaches across and takes the tiller from Sokka. "Prepare for a rough docking. Earlier, when I radioed in our coordinates, the imperial naval operations officer informed me the steel breakwalls were the only slips available. He cautioned our little boat might not be able to handle the impact." Hakoda smirks, "The fools don't know being modern doesn't mean being better." Nodding toward the crew members already lined against the Blue Orca's port and starboard, he assures, "I've got this. You two grab the lines and remember to be prepared for whatever should ensue." Hakoda isn't merely referencing the immediate situation at the marina, but a careful warning for the future. Katara and Sokka follow their father's orders with efficient speed. Standing at the ready, everyone watches as the Blue Orca guides into its slip assignment.

On the pier, a young naval officer beckons with wide gestures. "Keep her steady!" He shouts with a friendly tone. Though a brown beard grazes the sides of his face and chin, the officer's head is completely bald. A prominent blue arrow points downwards between his brows, runs the length of his scalp, before disappearing into the back collar of his imperial naval uniform.

"Sokka, an airbender!" Katara's first adventure from the southernmost point of the world, beyond her home's vast stretches of white powdery tundra, she actually sees a flesh and blood airbender. The sight boggles her mind.

Katara had received a rigorous education. In school, she had been instilled about all manner of subjects, including the other elemental races. The Noble House of Winds is a peaceful society, hidden away on the vast mountains peaks of the world. Her studies had reported airbenders reside within their temples, meditating, and shunning modern society.

Yet, this young man is standing on a pier, directing the Blue Orca to its slip. An airbender in a naval uniform was at such odds with the Noble House of Winds reported monk existence.

"By the looks of his arrow," Sokka tightens his hold on the thick rope. "I would say he is a master airbender."

"What wonders," Katara marvels, while bracing her feet against the deck. She wraps the braided cord around her wrists to maintain a stronger grip.

"Little Sis, I would advise you to learn and hide that otter-guppy expression quickly." Sokka reflects upon the Imperial City's notorious stories of lewdness, which had been regaled after several fermented seaweed pints were passed around and drunken. "Trust me, there is much more which would shock your innocence."

Katara scoffs, "I'm not as naive as you think."

Sokka's eyes bulge with surprise, "What's that suppose to mean?"

"Nothing," Katara grumbles, while looking away. "It's just you always assume I'm some baby panda-penguin that needs to be coddled. You're only a year older than me." She glances over her shoulder, "I know things, alright?"

"Right," Sokka exaggerates. He's assured even more that Katara has to be innocent with her mentioning a cuddly panda-penguin. _Panda-Penguin_ , Sokka snickers inwardly, _what a girlie thing to say_. He feels relieved that his world view of his sister remains intact.

Katara can plainly see Sokka's satisfied smirk. _Men!_ She thinks with disgust. _They think they are the sole chieftains and the only ones savvy of the world's ways._

Now that her brother was of age, Katara knew Sokka went out drinking. While the tribe's males were carousing and bonding over seaweed liquor, they assumed their women folk were patiently waiting in their ice houses, knitting little booties for a passel of supposed impending babies. The more accurate truth was the women were equally sharing in bawdy stories. Even Gran Gran, much to the furious embarrassment of Katara, had informed the other women how to make a man beg for mercy from feather touches to his ugani.

While Katara may not have direct experience with passion, she knew how to seek her own pleasure. Deep in the night, under layers of pelts, she had followed the familiar planes of her body. Fondling her rose tipped breasts, she circled the brown areola. While one hand tweaked a nipple, she guided her other hand across her flat stomach, down to the tuft of hair that hid her secret spot. Katara touched the slick point, stimulating herself slowly. She relished in the power of being in control of her body and responses. Building a heat within, her fingers gained speed, racing toward her blissful release. Even though she was under the dome of her igloo room, she had seen a vast array of stars stretch above her.

Katara yanks on the Blue Orca's rope more tightly. _Yes, men will always underestimate a woman._

As Gran Gran once remarked, "Katara, dear, use that to your advantage and smack them right between the eyes that you're as good as any male bender." Gran Gran had smiled and winked, "I know I had to do that to your step-grandfather, Pakku. He has been blissfully happy ever since."

A grinding of engines snaps Katara from her reflections. She and the rest of crew look up in astonishment. To everyone's dawning horror, a giant tanker is barreling towards the Blue Orca. The bow of the ship is ready to descend upon the Southern Tribe's stern and its piloting chief.

Hakoda stares up at the razor edge of the tanker ship towering above him. He spins the tiller and yells out, "Hold firm!"

Even as the words depart from the chief's lips, the naval officer on the pier crouches in a steady stance, whirling his hands. A cyclone of air appears and is sent beyond the Blue Orca, whooshing across the heads of its crew. The spinning wind shoves the tanker's immense bow back, holding the ship steady. Intense concentration is funneled, as the officer steps forward. His arm muscles strain, as he enlarges the rotating air into an engulfing cyclone. It slowly drives back the tanker from the Blue Orca. The marina bells clang in thunderous peals, other naval officers and dock workers pound down the wharf and join on the berth, shouting orders. The airbender continually edges the tanker backwards, as naval police boats surround the ship.

When it is obvious the tanker is contained, the airbender breaks his stance. His arms fall limply to his sides. Even though that feat must have required intense exertion, the airbender's disposition resumes its amiable ease. He hails to the stunned Southern Tribe's crew in a jovial tone about subverting a potentially deadly accident. "That was close."

Sokka shakes his head in agreement. "You could say that again."

The airbender grins widely and repeats, "That was close."

Laughter cascades over the Southern Tribe, making everyone feel calmer about the potential calamity.

Sokka pokes Katara in the side, "I like him."

Katara absently rubs the spot where Sokka had jabbed her. She liked the airbender, too. Yet, her father's words and this naval officer's actions remind her, it is important to be as agile on her toes as an airbender. For if a person isn't careful, she might get killed.

Hakoda reverses his quick maneuvering of the tiller and eases the sailing craft back toward the slip. Soon the Blue Orca is nestled next to the pier. The other crew members, including Hakoda, Sokka, and Katara finish the final preparations of properly securing the boat. As the lines are tied, the airbender agilely lifts from the steel berth, landing softly onto the Blue Orca.

"Welcome to Imperial City, I'm Lieutenant Aang, member of the Imperial Navy Core." Almost floating across the polished deck, Aang approaches Hakoda. Once he is in front of the Southern chief, the Lieutenant clicks his heels together. Aang rigidly holds his arms at his side, while bowing low before Hakoda.

Hakoda returns the bow. Due to Hakoda's higher status, he does not bend as deeply as the Lieutenant. "Thank you for saving our ship and especially my crew, Lieutenant Aang."

"Part of the job, airbending can be rather _handy_." Aang holds open his palm, and a ball of air spins upon it.

Hakoda thinks dryly that Aang would get along very well his son. "I'd like you to meet my children." He invites his son and daughter to join him with the flick of his fingers. "They are two of the many people who you saved today from Tui and La's watery crypts." Sokka and Katara hurry over to join their father, bowing and curtsying as deemed appropriate. Aang answers with a bow to each of them.

Stepping forward, Sokka introduces himself, while shaking his thumb towards his sister. "I'm Sokka and this is Katara."

"Sokka, I can speak for myself."

"Okay, then," Sokka shrugs. "What did you want to say?"

Katara blushes and mumbles, "That my name is Katara."

"Not very original, Katara," Sokka snickers.

"Sokka!" Katara folds her arms over her chest, glaring at her brother.

Hakoda shakes his head. "Alright you two, we must get ashore and head toward the palace."

Aang stands at rigid attention again, while bowing his redress. "I apologize, Chief Hakoda, Lord of the Noble House of Blue Orca, but the Imperial Envoy expected you two days from now. They are not prepared for your arrival."

Shaking his head, it always took a while for Hakoda to accustom himself to the pomp and circumstance of Imperial City. He assumes the expected regal air. "I accept your apology, but there is no need to fear offense. Fair winds were in our favor for most of the journey, we made better time than usual."

Sokka leans forward. "Dad is being modest. Southern Water Tribe ships are the fastest on sea. We always make good time."

Aang glances around, taking in the apparent skill of the Blue Orca. "Yes, I have heard tales of Southern Water Tribe ships, but this is the first one I have ever seen. Imperial City's harbor mostly gets tankers and boats from either the Fire Nation or from the seaports out of the Earth Kingdom. Those ships are mechanized with the latest engineering gadgets." Aang observes the smooth lines and elegant shape of the Southern Tribe's vessel. "But I prefer this one. It has not only beauty, but obvious efficiency, too."

"Exactly!" Sokka beams. "I can tell you know true style when you see it."

Hakoda should chastise his son for speaking out of turn, but the chief can't help feeling a similar swell of pride. Clearing his throat, Hakoda indicates he will resume the typical hierarchy protocol. Sokka immediately steps behind his father, but slightly in front of his sister. The chief assures the young officer in front of him that there is no need for a parade on their behalf. "Lieutenant Aang, I have been to Imperial City many times, for the annual tribute, as well as trading missions, I'm familiar with the way up to the palace. There is no need for an Imperial Envoy. My children and I will walk."

"When I informed the palace of your arrival, I was told to escort you." Aang shrugs the shoulders of his crisp red uniform. "They might meet us anyway with the requisite palanquin. The court loves a good show."

Katara reaches for her father's arm. "Dad, can't we wait? I've always wanted to ride in a palanquin."

Hakoda touches his daughter's hair, so like Kya and a zeal for life. "No, we will walk. It will be good for our legs after the long journey."

Katara wants to pout, but feels it might reinforce Sokka's childish assumptions about her. She stands erect in silent agreement.

The gangway had been carefully put in place. Hakoda gives his orders about the ship to Bato, his second in command. Both men grip each other affectionately on their white arm braces.

Bato steps away from his chief and friend. "I will do you proud."

"You always do." Hakoda then announces to his crew. "Thank you for your loyalty and friendship. By Yue, until I return to you again, I say good moon to you all." His crew responds appropriately, while bowing with utmost respect to their leader. The Southern Tribe remains in that reverent position, until after Hakoda, his two children, and Lieutenant Aang exit off the gangway.

The wharf is teeming with activity. Burly sailors, with lusty tattoos on their arms, lug crates to and fro. Ostrich horses pull carts of produce and supplies. Huge pots of bubbling tar boil over into fires, as men stir the contents from platforms above the acrid black stew. Pelican-vultures circle above and swoop in to steal the bloody guts and fish heads from the daily catch. There is so much to view that Katara is constantly flipping her head back and forth to make sure she doesn't miss a thing.

"First time to Imperial City, huh?" Aang has fallen in step with Katara, who has lagged behind due to her gawking.

Katara blushes. "Frankly, this is my first time anywhere."

Sokka jogs backwards and then walks forward in line with Aang and Katara. "So, buddy, can I call you, buddy, buddy?"

"Yes, can I call you Sokka, Sokka?"

Katara holds her hand in front of her mouth giggling. "I can tell Sokka and you will be great friends."

"Aren't we already?" Sokka adds simply and with the smugness that making friends is just what he does best. Coughing, not so subtly into his fist, he bluntly asks what both siblings have secretly wanted to know from the beginning. "Now, about your life story, can we have the short version? I don't have a lot time."

"Sokka!" Katara ignores her brother's obvious implications and concentrates on his rudeness. "Maybe Aang doesn't want to tell us his life story." She really hopes he does though and adds nonchalantly. "Not unless he wants to, then of course, we'll listen."

"I don't mind." Aang smiles up at Katara. "It really isn't that interesting. Airbenders don't have a lot of money. In order to help pay the tribute, some of the master airbenders volunteer to leave the temples and find worldly jobs."

"I have never met an airbender until you." Katara can't help but stare closely at Aang's bright blue arrow.

"Can't imagine there are many airbenders living on the southern tundra." Aang looks curiously between the siblings. "Are either of you waterbenders?"

Sokka answers quickly for Katara. "No waterbenders around here."

"It's probably just as well. The fire nation has quite an aversion for waterbenders."

Katara swallows, "Really, why?"

"Water can extinguish fire, and the Imperial Flame must never cease, correct?" Aang states the standard goodwill with a careful eye trained on the Southern Tribe siblings.

"Yes," Katara and Sokka look at each other and answer duly, "long live the Fire Lord."

Sokka quickly changes the subject from anymore talk about waterbending. "Why did you decide to join the Imperial Navy?"

"I always wanted to travel, so thought I'd give the Imperial Navy a try. It turns out airbenders are mighty _handy_ at sea and port." Aang repeats his trick of spinning air on his palm.

"That is a really impressive trick, Aang." Katara's eyes circle around, trying to follow the air spiral.

Aang shuts his hand and the mini-cyclone disappears. "It is actually an ancient practice sacred to my people." Katara looks contrite over her inappropriate slight against Aang's culture. The Lieutenant winks, "but it is also a cool trick."

Sokka and Katara both laugh. Hakoda glances behind. "Hurry up, you two. I want to get to the palace before sundown." Life in the tundra has taught him to be nervous at night; wicked things lurking in the shadows can roam unhindered. All three run up to the chief, keeping more in step with Hakoda's long stride.

Katara glimpses a lurid sign, with the undulating letters spelling, _Serpent's Teat_. A voluptuous woman loitering below the logo exposes her ample breasts. She strokes the mounds, jiggling them so they bounce and fall, and then lifts one up to her mouth to suckle on the brown tip. Her bright red lips release the nipple. She calls out boldly to Katara, "Care to sample from the teat." Reaching down her skirt, she reveals an ugani. Running her hand up and down the shaft, it grows in length. "Or perhaps you prefer some fresh cock."

Katara stumbles over the sight of a person being both sexes. She backs into Aang, knocking him into Sokka. Looking away, she tries to rush an explanation for her behavior. "I'm sorry, I was startled."

They both turn toward the sounds of a cackling woman. She has pulled her shirt over her breasts, but makes a great show of tucking back her ugani.

"I told you, Katara, that you couldn't handle the big bad world."

"Sokka, I'm fine. I was knocked off balance." Katara glances down at the cobblestone pavers they are walking upon and supplies a plausible reason rather than the actual truth that she had been utterly astonished. "I'm not use to walking on these type roads."

"Sure, the roads, that's what it was." Sokka shakes his head.

Aang is aware that Katara isn't being as truthful as she would like to pretend. For not long ago, his reaction had been the same. "Before I came to Imperial City, I had never seen a Shim either." He swings his head back, indicating the _Serpent's Teat_. "That brothel isn't very good, though; lots of flea-crabs have been reported coming out of there. The Upper City has classier establishments." Katara's eyes widen slightly and Aang rushes to explain. "I haven't been to them, not that there is anything wrong with going there if you need a release." He finishes lamely, "Men talk."

"No, it's fine." Katara adds gratefully, "Thanks for explaining to me. I'm already learning a lot."

"After you're here a while, you get use to the way things are done in Imperial City." Aang glances away, while asking what he hoped from the moment he had first glimpsed Katara. "Do you plan to stay around?"

"No." Katara drops her shoulders. "We will pay our tribute and then return home."

Aang misunderstands Katara's reason for her sudden sadness. "I'm sure the royal family will like you and extend your visa."

Katara's eyes flash white-hot blue. "I detest the royal family."

Aang holds up his hands. "Whoa, those kinds of words will get you jailed."

"Who cares? It's the truth."

"Truth doesn't buy you any friends in court."

Katara scoffs, "I don't need those kinds of friends."

"You'd be surprised how much you will need them, if you do stick around." Aang replies quietly and then moves up the road past Hakoda and Sokka, taking the group's lead.

Hugging herself, Katara longs to return to the pristine tundra, where the snow crystals glistened under the bright sun and gentle moonlight. The fire nation was as foreign to her as the concept as electricity, or as Gran Gran called it, _light magic_. The thought of her beloved grandmother makes Katara grin. She drops her arms and dashes up to join her father and brother.

A honking horn signals for the clogged thoroughfare to disperse. The throngs scatter, push carts move next to the buildings, while the animals are carefully contained. A bright red automobile with gold ornate leafing proclaims the imperial seal of a fire breathing dragon. The car advances down the cobble street, before pulling up next to Aang, who is further ahead of the group. He bows and then speaks in a hush toned to the concealed passenger. Standing upright, he bows briefly again, before turning to Hakoda, Sokka, and Katara.

Sokka is mesmerized by the appearance of the car. He is almost panting with anticipation at its appearance. For once, Katara isn't the only otter-guppy.

Hakoda drolly advises, "Shut your mouth, Sokka, you're drooling son."

Sokka doesn't supply a quick witted retort. He closes his lips and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Katara looks away disgusted.

Aang opens the car's door and stands aside, motioning for the group to enter the vehicle. "Your palanquin awaits."

Before stepping into the envoy car, Hakoda bows. "Thank you for your help, Lieutenant Aang. May the moon always precede you."

Sokka ignores the standard greeting custom and slaps Aang on the shoulder. "Thanks buddy for everything."

"If you ever want to see the world, you should think about joining the Imperial Naval Core. I can vouch for you."

Sokka smiles dips, "I'll think about it." He climbs into the palanquin.

"Great!" Aang turns his attention to Katara. He takes in her caramel skin and delicate features.

"Aang, it was nice to meet you." Katara curtsies.

"I hope this won't be the last time I'll see you, Katara." Aang's eyes hungrily absorb Katara while her eyes are downcast.

Katara looks up into Aang's earnest expression. She thinks about the future, and her words sound bleak even to her. "I might not be the same person, if we should ever meet again." She steps inside the car, while saying, "Good-bye Aang."

"Good-bye Katara." Aang shuts the door. Looking through the gauzy curtains, Katara can still see Aang watching them drive away, never wavering from his spot.

"Welcome to Imperial City." An extra chipper voice directs Katara to the interior of the car. "My name is Joo Dee. I have been given the most honored of honors to show Lord Hakoda and his family to the Imperial Palace." White teeth glow with a cheshire-puma smile.

Hakoda, Sokka, and Katara rear back from the glare. The inside of the palanquin car is lined with deep red velvet. Yet even in the low lighted surroundings, Joo Dee's teeth emit a ghostly gleam.

Sokka pastes on a plasticized smile, speaking out of the side of his mouth. "She is spooky." Katara couldn't agree more, and she can tell their father is equally disturbed.

Hakoda dispels their moment of joint surprise at their guide's appearance. "We thank you for the ride, Joo Dee, but we were fine with walking up to the palace."

Joo Dee lips never cease beaming. "No, no, you are a guest at the palace and should be accorded all due rights and privileges."

Hakoda is tired already from the formality and can't resist sniping. "Really, I didn't realize all guests were required to pay the Imperial House a tribute."

"We like to think of a tribute as a gift, in exchange for protecting the ones whom you love." Joo Dee may be smiling but her words drip with an acidic retort.

Hakoda reaches out for each of his children's hands, clutching them tightly. "Yes, I love my family very much." He leans back against the velvet cushioned back. "If you don't mind, we've had a long trip, and I'm tired. I would like to ride the rest of the way to the palace in silence." Shutting his eyes, he effectively ends Joo Dee's tour.

Katara is weary as well. She turns her head to the side. Still clutching her father's hand, she rests her forehead against the door frame. The rushing buildings, blurring past, lull her into a gentle sleep.

A sudden lurch and Joo Dee's pronouncement, awakens everyone. "We have arrived at the palace."

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 **A/N:** I hope you enjoyed chapter 1. This alternate universe's time period is closely similar to the what occurred in the early Industrial Age. My story will explore: the old ways vs. the new emerging technology, court back-stabbing, vying for power, spiritual fantasy, and lemons. Until next time, ponder: how has Koh crossed into the physical plane?

Please try my other on-going story, too: _Guardians of the White Lotus_. It is an Old West space adventure, much more aimed at the pre-teen/young adult set with lots of comedic elements.

 **Author Plea:** Please leave a review, favorite, and even a follow. All of those help encourage me!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you for all the follows, there is A LOT to choose from out there and appreciate you selecting my story. My first review appreciation award goes to my first reviewer, Moon our Witness! What joy, I appreciate it so much!

 **Disclaimer:** While I adore Zutara, I must admit that I have no claim to _Avatar the Last Airbende_ r.

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Katara is the last one to step out of the palanquin. Her eyes adjust to the bright sunshine. Far from the harbor and coal steamers, the air is cleaner. Flags bearers line the courtyard, holding flapping red banners embroidered with yellow dragons. The air is more alive and clearer at the highest point of Imperial City. Breezes snap and crack the ceremonial flags into rippling waves. The wind is almost dancing across to Katara. It dips and whirls, lifting her braid up and down against her back. She hurries to stand next to her father and brother.

Soldiers stand side-by-side in front of the palace's balcony, creating a rigid barrier. Steps rise up on either side to form the higher platform, where the royal family stands in the pecking order of superiority. Katara curtsies a modest bob to indicate the royal family's greater status. The male members wear formal military uniforms, while the women are corseted into elegant gowns. Lace collars decorate their blouse fronts and rise up to their necks; satin skirts fall from impossibly tiny waists, pooling upon the ground. The noble ladies' ebony hair is elaborately twisted into sophisticated coifs and crowned with jaunty hats angled upon their heads.

Katara drops her gaze to her shapeless dress. The soft blue material is practical for traveling, as well as moving freely beneath layers of furs, but it is obviously plain and unfashionable. Feeling suddenly conspicuous, she clutches her hands in hopes of hiding her shift.

Gran Gran's voice admonishes her. _"Vanity, Katara dear, will only make you ugly. Enjoy life, and your true beauty will emerge."_ Katara straightens her shoulders and stands proudly facing the royal family. She will exude the confidence that her stature brings by being a proper Southern Water tribe lady.

The whole breadth of nobility has hardly stirred from their places of rank. No one has acknowledged Hakoda, Sokka, and Katara's presences. The ostrich-llama plumes on the women's hats ruffling in the wind are the sole indication that the assemblage is more than replicated statues of the royal family.

Katara can distinguish the various members, mentally identifying their names. Provinces are kept informed about the Imperial family through official announcements. Press blurbs and magazine articles manage to drift out to the Southern Water Tribe, though typically months after any of the events have occurred. Most of the reports from Imperial City were broadcasted via the official radio station, receiving that information was dependent upon whether arctic storms interrupted the signals. Since six months of the year the fierce storms rage, information was mostly sporadic.

The most recognizable face from the royal family is that of Prince Zuko. Tales of his disfigurement had been regaled in horrific details. Journalists had speculated upon what witchery had been involved for Prince Zuko to even survive his extensive injuries. Each kingdom was issued a mandate, requiring them to make daily offerings until the prince was fully recovered. As a ranking female in their noble family, Katara was required to administer the oblations. She watched bitterly as the flames engulfed their villages' precious winter supplies. As she saw perfectly good food vanish into smoke ribbons, she prayed for Prince Zuko's death or recovery. Either result would have little effect upon her emotionally; the culmination of one would finally cease the other's wasteful sacrifices.

The palace is a worthy background to the noble line of family members. Arched windows stretch the length of the massive building which wraps around the three sides of the cobblestone courtyard. White marble decorates the facade of the official residence, inset of the main building are three arched doorways whose bronze doors bear the reliefs of twisting dragons. On the multiple red roofs are jeweled accents, the architecture brush strokes are repeated golden touches on the cornices and numerous overhangs. These adornments highlight the palace's compound predominant motif, including down to the cobblestone courtyard. Gold pavers spiral into a pictorial form of the royal dragon crest.

Katara looks down at her soft leather shoes. She is standing upon the dragon's iris. The angle of the light makes the eye glitter, giving the fire breathing figure a sense of being alive. An aura of unease envelopes Katara, reminding her that she isn't safe within her igloo home, she is in a foreign land with alien ways. Stepping off of the dragon's eye, Katara looks to the platform.

The soldiers have unsheathed their swords from their scabbards. The silver blades are held upwards in front of their faces. It is the signal for Crown Prince Iroh. He steps backwards and turns a quarter turn, moving toward the right staircase. Iroh's son, Lu Ten, shortly imitates his father's exact movements, following behind his father. Striding down the steps, both men are dressed in the same black jackets and breeches. Brass buttons mimic the same shape of the red v-shaped breast fronts. The Crown Prince has more elaborate ranking regalia, from the elongated dangling fringe of his epaulets to the stacked columns of chevrons that denote his prestige as Imperial Army General.

Iroh and Lu Ten reach the bottom of the steps. The soldiers and flag bears, blocking access to the staircases, part and allow the two princes to pass through a makeshift opening. The formal guard then resumes their previous stances, closing the momentary gateway. Iroh and Lu Ten approach the Southern Water Tribe's representatives. As the two princes cross the courtyard, their shiny boots have a steady tread against the pavers.

Standing in front of Hakoda, Iroh clicks his heels together and then bows briefly. "Noble Chief of the Southern Water tribe, on behalf of Imperial Emperor and Sovereign Fire Lord, Azulon, my son, Prince Lu Ten, and I welcome you to the palace and Imperial City."

Hakoda returns the bow. Out of the whole viper nest of a royal family, the only one Hakoda considers worthy of his titles, Prince and General, is Iroh. Hakoda rises from his sign of respect and replies with a less guarded response, though still laced with the required ceremony. "Thank you, Crown Prince and General of the Imperial Army, my family appreciates you extending your welcome to us."

Iroh makes a show of glancing around at the otherwise empty courtyard. "Where is the rest of your retinue?"

Hakoda relaxes some of his tension. Iroh has a way of making sure guests feel at ease and welcome, not only by his words but by his whole demeanor. "It will only be my family staying at the palace during tribute time. My crew will remain upon my ship."

Are these your children?" Iroh smiles upon Sokka and Katara.

"Yes, this is Sokka and Katara."

As Sokka waited behind his father and through the boring ceremonial proceedings, he was occupied with a way of devising how to possess his own vehicle. The main reason that he encountered a car taunted him with the futility of his efforts to obtain one; and yet, his desire could not be tempered. Sokka and his friends had poured over glimpses and descriptions of automobiles in books, advertisements, and one catalog which promised delivery no matter how far flung the destination; but Sokka had never seen a fully animated car until the arrival of the palanquin. He was besotted. Joo Dee's creepy toothy smile might have diverted him momentarily from his infatuation, but Sokka had quickly resumed his quest on calculating how long it would take him to afford his own car. His conclusion resulted in the scale not weighing favorably for him. Even with a hefty catch of tuna-sturgeon, it would take a year to equal a potential down payment for a vehicle.

Hakoda's mention of his son's name and Katara's poke in her brother's back triggered Sokka to focus upon the older gentleman with a silver beard and his younger son. He couldn't recall their names. They were important by the medals that especially decorated the older man's chest, but keeping up with the royal family fell into two categories: boring and girlie, both of which did not employ Sokka's interest. Back to the firm terrain of reality and his duty, he assumes his station as the Southern tribe's second-in-command. Taking turns stepping forward, Sokka and Katara perform their proper respects.

The crown prince extends an open invitation to Hakoda. "If you should change your mind and would like your crew to join us, there is plenty of room at the palace." Iroh strokes his trimmed beard. "Though if I recall, Southern Water ships are quite comfortable. I once spent a very pleasant night under the vast stars, sleeping on the deck of one."

Hakoda seizes upon the crown prince's anecdote as a means to turn the tide of the water tribes diminishing financial resources. "Our tribe was disheartened when we lost the Imperial Naval contract."

Iroh's jovial expression hardens. "Yes, I disagreed with that decision, but I have little influence over that division. Archduke Ozai presides over that committee."

Hakoda eyes flit to the platform, where Ozai stands next to his wife, Ursa. The archduke emanates conceit even at a distance. "Yes, I remember well." Hakoda conceals his anger over how Ozai had belittled the southern ships for being inferior in battle, even though his fleet had bested all the other representatives during the naval contract exercises.

"Perhaps, we can discuss over tea in my private quarters, how I could personally commission a ship." Iroh turns on his heels. He pauses and signals with his head for the Southern Water tribe's chief to fall in step. Both men walk side-by-side, while Sokka follows closely behind his father.

As Katara gathers her dress to join her father and brother, Lu Ten bows briefly and then holds out the crook of his arm. "Lady Katara, if I may be so privileged to escort you?"

"Thank you, Prince Lu Ten that is most kind of you." Katara threads her arm through the prince's.

Lu Ten leads Katara across the courtyard. "The apartments your family will be residing in should be to your liking. The royal steward has taken great care to ensure your comfort."

"I'm sure the rooms will be fine." Katara tries to not reveal her nervousness of having to conduct idle chatter with a prince, slyly looking up at him, a very handsome prince, too. Lu Ten's face is angled toward a strong chin with a faint hint of a cleft. Well shaped sideburns match his thick, dark hair. She swallows, feeling a small quiver of girlish awe descend upon her.

"The palace is quite beautiful," Katara swallows her inane attempt at small talk, and her statement dribbles out in almost a whisper.

"Beautiful, yes," Lu Ten looks about him, as if seeing the place with fresh eyes. "Beauty fades upon the frost of winter, but never leaves the seed. A kernel of truth is held in the palm and grows again into a beautiful sight."

"That is lovely," Katara stares up at the man. "Did you compose that poem?"

"No, my father dabbles in poetry. It is one of his own."

"Do you write poetry yourself?"

"I'm more musically inclined. I play the Erhu." Lu Ten eyes a song bird rising and dipping in the late afternoon light. He points with his head to the bird in flight. "It sings like a sparrowkeet, but only when the bow strikes and then wings off in flight." Lu Ten laughs at Katara's obvious expression of awe. "Again, my father's poems, you will find him often quoting or whistling in the hallways of the palace."

Katara and Lu Ten have climbed the stairs and stand ready for the formal introductions. Iroh goes through the repetitious pedigree of the royal family members, which repeats a rhythm of back and forth expected protocol. Lu Ten's wife, Duchess Narumi is a slender reed, almost ready to drift away with a gentle breeze. She smiles her greeting to the southern tribe representatives. Lu Ten reaches out and rubs his wife's arm with a questioning gesture. Staring lovingly into her husband's eyes, she smiles reassuringly. Lu Ten drops his hand and steps away, but concern is still upon his face. When Azula is addressed, she swings her head toward the water tribe family and deigns a modicum of acknowledgement. Moving her eyes up and down Katara's blue dress, Azula raises an eyebrow and makes a poor job of hiding her mockery of the inferior garment. A mumbled greeting is all she can generate for Hakoda and Sokka.

Next, Iroh reaches his nephew and proudly explains, "And this is Prince Zuko."

Zuko bows stiffly to the four people in front of him, "Uncle, Chief Hakoda, Sir Sokka, and Lady Katara."

Katara is careful to keep her eyes down and not openly stare at Zuko's scar. His left eye is severely pulled, creating a slat. His cheek has five deep scars raked across his eye socket and up his brow. The oblong scar makes his face appear unyielding. Even though he was perfectly respectful to Katara's family, the rasp of his voice created an abrupt tone to his words.

"Prince Zuko is Commander of the Warders. It is he and his men, alone, who protect our borders from the faceless ones." Iroh's eyes are soft with obvious pride.

Zuko is nonplussed and pushes away the praise. "Thank you, Uncle, but it is my honor that I'm allowed to serve the fire nation."

"No, it is the fire nation who is honored to have you." After Zuko bows his gratitude, Iroh moves onto Zuko and Azula's mother and father. "Archduchess Ursa and Archduke Ozai." The Crown Prince's voice fluctuates from endearing for Ursa to a harsher edge for Ozai.

Ursa beams at Sokka and Katara jointly. "It will be so good to have young people about the palace, especially for Zuko and Azula. The court can be rather stodgy. I welcome a breath of fresh air; your energy should lighten us with a bit of fun."

Ozai sighs with a flicker of boredom toward his wife. "Yes, fun is exactly what the court needs." He cocks his head with a slight sneer toward the Southern Water tribe's chief. 'If I may say, I found myself quite entertained during last year's naval competitions. A great day of sport, though ultimately, not a satisfying one for the Southern Water tribe."

Hakoda inwardly seethed, but volleyed back. "If I recall, the Southern Water tribe performed well. It takes an adept leader with a keen eye to notice the difference between empty flash and obvious substance. It is too bad that flash won that day." The chief is clearly stating that Ozai was an ineffectual judge to offer an opinion about naval exercises or anything which mattered.

Iroh liked Hakoda each time they had interactions; and at the moment, the Southern Water tribe chief had scored quite high in the crown prince's court of opinion. "Chief Hakoda, you have had a long journey and since you are two days ahead of schedule, you have some time to recoup, perhaps even enjoy the city? The lower town begins their merrymaking this evening." Iroh looks to Zuko. "Perhaps, Sir Sokka and Lady Katara would like to visit the tribute festival?"

Katara's excitement soars. It had been years since the Southern Water tribe had a large festival. The Winter Solstice, where days of ice sculpture, panda-penguin sledding rides, and lots of snowy ice cream were plentiful, had been shuttered. Celebrations couldn't be afforded when supplies were so few and precious.

Peering up at her father, Katara's blue eyes dance with musical remembrances. "Dad, may we please attend?"

Hakoda's heart tugs. He hates denying his daughter anything and this would be twice in one day, but he didn't trust the night. "I'm not comfortable with you being out in the city without proper supervision."

Katara clasps her hands together and blinks her long lashes over wide pooling blue eyes. "Sokka would be with me."

"Katara, we will discuss it later." Hakoda's caution laced with fatherly warning that it was improper to have a family discourse in front of strangers.

Sokka had been happy that Katara had mentioned her wanting to attend the festival. For his stomach, it would translate into potential delicacies to sample. He knew Katara had a particular sway over their father and would be more successful than he with any potential request. Not only did Hakoda refuse the sweet pleading and doe-lamb expression from his sister, but insinuated Sokka wouldn't be a capable chaperon. He was insulted and disappointed. Sokka's stomach concurred in rumbled agreement.

"If I may offer a suggestion, Chief Hakoda, Prince Zuko and Princess Azula could accompany your children to the festival." The looks of horror on all four young people's faces showed how much neither of them cared to be in each other's company.

Ursa touched Iroh's arm lovingly. "Iroh that is superb idea."

"Mother," Azula protested, "I don't think it would be a good idea for a Princess to be seen with peasants."

 _Peasants!_ Katara almost rears back. The insult was almost comical in its use at a formal setting, where manners overruled speaking frankly. If Azula was implying that a peasant was a decent, respectful person, who wouldn't insult someone to their face, then Katara was content with being referred to as a peasant.

Ozai smiles slyly at his daughter, "Ursa, Azula is correct. What would that say about the royal family?" Ozai turns to clarify to the Southern Water tribe chief, pretending he wasn't inferring his belief that the three foreigners were indeed peasants. "Chief Hakoda, of course, I obviously meant that if any royal family members were found wandering about in the lower city."

"Obviously that is what you meant." Hakoda said dryly, staring pointedly into the other man's calculating amber eyes. "What could it possibly imply when a leader is out among his people, taking an active interest in their lives, but if you find it more comfortable to stay within your safe compound, then that is your option as Archduke?" Hakoda stressed Ozai's title as a reminder that the archduke was an underling and far removed from ever obtaining the rites of an actual sovereign ruler.

Ursa's gentle features look sharply between her husband and daughter. "Ozai, I think it is paramount for the royal family to always exhibit grace and caring for their own people and guests." She bowed her head to Chief Hakoda, "Noble Chief Hakoda, I apologize if my daughter or husband has offended you in any way."

"Thank you, Archduchess Ursa, but I'm not offended." Hakoda isn't lying, for he would have to respect the people first, before he could consider their opinion dishonorable.

Sokka wanted to reach across and wrap his hands around Princess Azula's throat, and then slug her pompous father. The image of it made him almost grin and helped alleviate his anger. His father's clever way of besting Ozai made him almost shout: _score one, water tribe; zero, fire nation_ , and then want to point at the sulky Archduke, _loser!_

Katara had already identified Azula and Ozai from afar as potential snakes lying in wait among the royal reeds; but after her brief interactions, her suspicions were undoubtedly confirmed. She glances at Zuko. He had been silent throughout the proceedings. His yellow eyes had carefully watched the interchanges. Katara thought his approach was the safest. She would be just as wary and guarded as Prince Zuko.

"I appreciate your suggestion, Crown Prince Iroh, but as you stated earlier, we have had a long day. It is best that we retire to our apartments."

"I understand." Iroh did comprehend the Southern Water chief's apprehension. Looking to his nephew, the Dragon of the West feels heavy hearted for Zuko. Holding up his hand in the warm air, Iroh flicks his fingers in a summing gesture. Joo Dee appears, almost prostrating herself in front of the crown prince. "Joo Dee, please lead Chief Hakoda and his children to their quarters." Iroh bows to the water tribe members, "I bid you all adieu."

The water tribe performs a befitting good-bye and follows Joo Dee toward the main entrance of the palace. The bronze gates are massive; but with a slight push from the sycophant guide, the doors open without hesitation. Closer inspection of the gates, Katara can see that the twisting dragons are dancing, wrapping their scaled bodies around each other. Flames of fire, breathed from outstretched jaws, drift up the door panels. It is a terrifying beauty to behold.

Joo Dee smartly refrains from small talk during the trek toward the guest quarters. The water tribe family is led through a labyrinth of passageways; vast hallways in successive order alternate in theme. One corridor is covered in portraits, another with floor to ceiling mirrors, and then a series of rooms with antique weaponry arranged in elaborate grids. The passageways are decorated with propaganda in mind, which clearly outlines the imperial monarchy's wealth and military might. Katara forgoes imprinting a mental map of the route and let's herself float along the passageways, taking in the visual elegance.

"We have arrived at your apartments." Joo Dee throws open the double doors. The water tribe family steps inside a large sitting area. "This is your main living room with connecting bedrooms. The porters have retrieved your luggage from the southern ship." The note of disparage about the southern vessel are well implied. "If you should need anything, like a tailor," Joo Dee looks to Katara, but then quickly averts her gaze. "There are call-pulls in each bedroom, as well as in here." She points across from her to a braided rope with tassel, dangling from the ceiling. Bowing curtly, Joo Dee backs away. "I leave you all to get settled." She closes the doors in front of her bent position.

Sokka stares at the door and strokes his go-tee. "Yes, I found Joo Dee delightful in a rather off putting way." He grins creepily, flashing a smile not quite as wide as the guide's.

"You will find most of the staff is rather…" Hakoda couldn't hide his grin at his son's proper summation, "off putting."

Blue patterned paper of saxifrage flowers covers the walls of the sitting room. The hearty blossoms are a favorite to the water tribe, as the flowers have managed to adapt to the freezing southern temperatures and rocky terrain. A thick border wraps around the perimeter of the room and rests below the crown moldings, which climb up on the ceiling itself. Silk draperies, pleated in layers, are gathered with silver medallions and cascade to the polished floors. A plush carpet is in the middle of the room. Blue settees and lounges populate the space. On a round table with golden leafed plates and utensils is a silver domed platter, Sokka's stomach takes notice and leads him over to it.

Lifting up the lid, Sokka releases the smells of a prepared sumptuous repast. "I believe, dinner is served." Hakoda and Katara are alerted to their hunger and join in partaking in the meal.

Katara plates the food, giving the first one to her father. Locating a silver tea set on the nearby secretary desk, she pours hot liquid into fine china cups. After waiting for Hakoda to take the first bite and sip of tea, the children begin to sample the food. Sokka resists the urge to lift up the plate and let the food slide down his gullet, but his quick second serving shows he isn't slow to consume the dinner. After everyone feels sated and Sokka can say he is stuffed, Katara stacks the dirty dishes on the silver platter and recovers it with the dome.

"Now, what do we do?" Katara feigns coming up with an original suggestion. "I have an idea, we could check out the Tribute Festival."

Hakoda lounges on the couch. "Now, why would we want to do that?" He ignores his daughter's obvious attempt at swaying her father.

"Because…" Katara thinks of a plausible reason and brightens at a notion. "Archduchess Ursa said that young people are fun and what better way to become more fun then join in some fun." After she finished, Katara reviews her statement and even finds it lacking.

Sokka steps forward, realizing while his sister is capable of many things, being underhanded isn't one of them. "Dad, I think I deserve it, don't you?"

Hakoda looks up sharply. "Deserve to partake in a festival that openly markets how the fire nation abuses their power? Instead of helping the world be rid of Koh and his soulless minions, the imperial family freely capitalizes upon it. No, you don't deserve it. I hope I don't know that either of you attended that barbaric festival; it would disappoint me immensely."

Sokka's face falls, "Dad, I didn't mean to…"

Hakoda rises, cutting off his son's apology. "I'm tired, let us all retire to bed."

Katara and Sokka stand stunned in the room, both feeling shamefaced that they wanted desperately to go. Hakoda pauses at the door frame of his room, he places his hand upon the painted wood. Looking into the darken bedroom, his voice is consumed with sadness. "By the moon, I love you both."

"By the moon, we love you." They both choke out softly.

Hakoda enters his room and firmly shuts the door. Katara and Sokka look to each other and say a sad goodnight. As they move separately into their bedrooms, the first flash of fireworks burst in the sky.

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 **A/N:** I really like having Lu Ten in the story. I think he was so important to Iroh's character development, but was not truly seen or fleshed out in the cannon series. It is fun for me to create a deeper story for him and his wife, Narumi (OC).

 **Author's Plea:** Keep up with the follows, favorites and add to my reviews. It does keep my fingers a-clacking on the keyboard.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Ta-da, I have finally edited the next chapter. This is a major victory for me, hopefully it will ripple some happiness throughout the fan-verse that I updated.

 **Disclaimer:** It is with much sadness that I must admit that I do not own any rights to _Avatar the Last Airbender_ :(

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Katara watches from her balcony an array of light spraying the night with bright colors. The gauzy curtains billow behind her with the gentle evening breezes. The air had become more temperate after the day's heat. Intense hues from above draw fire shapes across the sky, making the night come alive with vibrancy. The heavens barely register the fireworks, before receiving another picture blast decorating the sky.

The sight harkens back to Katara's homeland. The white stars above the snowy tundra are plentiful beacons that line the celestial sphere with their own stories. Though, once a year, the night would glow with dancing colors. The empyrean, the highest of heavens that contain all the mystical elements, would open its doors to the earthly inhabitants below, illuminating the sky with flowing rivers of iridescences. The Southern tribe witnessed the visions in reverent solemnity.

Over time, the natural aurora lights had dwindled to nothingness, before finally vanishing. Katara may be far from her snowy familiarity, but her southern home was disappearing faster than her fading memories. Sokka will sacrifice himself this season for the tribe, but for such a futile reason. Next year, the Southern tribe will be placed in the same predicament, find the money for the tribute or sacrifice another denizen. As it was, the village was dwindling to having more elderly members than round-faced, baby ones. Touching her mother's pendant, nestled at the base of her throat, Katara reflects upon another time, when the lights whirled in magical projections overhead. Everything seemed so simple then, with such endless possibilities and no faceless ones roaming the southern tribe's lands.

* * *

Katara's little mitten had fitted securely into her mother's sure grip. Kya's cheeks glowed with the same excitement as her daughter's. Both were entranced by the sky's colorful gift. Sokka was perched upon Hakoda's shoulders. His young stature was finally able to tower above the crowd of excited villagers.

Katara pulled on Kya's hand, whispering fearfully to her mother while half hiding from the display of light colors and yet drawn by its mysterious wonder. "Mom, are the spirits angry with us?"

Kya's blue eyes were alight with fascination. She glanced down at Katara. "No, my sweet daughter, the Spirits aren't angry, but having a joyous celebration in their great hall. A massive banquet is being held with much dancing and fanfare."

Hopping up and down in the snow, Katara's warm boots sunk lower with each jump. Her little toddler imagination conjured up long wooden tables covered in all manner of delicacies and sumptuous delights.

As Katara frantically hailed to the heavens, she debated over what she would gobble first in her sugary greediness. "I want to be invited." She waves at the gamboling lights. "Invite me to your party, great Spirits."

Kya reached down and picked up Katara, "My sweet daughter for us to be invited to the Spirit's table, we have foregone our earthly bodies, having left this world, never to return."

Katara wrapped her arms tightly around her mother's neck, burrowing her face in the soft fur collar. "I take it back. I don't to go up there to the great hall. I want to stay here with you and Dad forever." Katara turned her lips to her mother's ear and whispered, "I wouldn't even want to leave Sokka, but don't tell him I said that."

Kya laughed and shook her head affirmatively, guaranteeing the shared promise, "Our little secret." She held Katara away from her slightly. "The truth is, while it looks like glorious fun. I, too, would never want to leave any of you." Kya tenderly tucked a stray lock of Katara's hair beneath her daughter's fur hood.

* * *

The Fire nation fireworks explode, jolting Katara back to the present. She carefully touches her intricately braided hair, the hallmark of a young southern maiden. She hadn't been taught by her mother the ways of womanhood; Kya had been taken from their family. For Katara, she had already sailed into new territory, long before arriving in the Fire nation.

Looking beyond the protective walls of the Imperial palace, Katara's blue eyes beheld another fireworks explosion decorating the sky. The palace's stone and iron wall barrier may encase the noble class from the commoners; but from Katara's vantage point, high above, the only apparent fun seems to be found within the lower city.

Katara rests her cheek in her right palm, running her free hand along the brass balustrade. It doesn't seem fair that she is forced to stay within the confines of the court. Since her family's arrival, even the servants have made it blatantly clear that the Southern tribe doesn't belong anywhere near the royal family or on the palace's grounds. Sighing again, Katara alternates her supporting hand and rests her cheek in her other palm. She admonishes herself over moping about the festival. It is rather petty and selfish, considering Hakoda's strict edict. Katara's guilt tries to rationalize her desires, but recalling her father's sorrowful features she feels even more contrite for wanting to attend the celebrations.

The fireworks boom reds, oranges, greens, and blues, which simultaneously zoom across the sky, flashing starburst formations. Suddenly, a dragon bursts through the raining color drops. Its head rears back and breathes fire. Katara gasps and stands upright. Wings flap and the red serpent's barbed tail whips around in a twisting formation, rising up to the sky's zenith. The dragon shoots out a blast of fire from its opened jaws, before disappearing within the smoky vapor. The haze of grey mist obscures the stars, but allows a final glimpse of red remnants falling back to earth.

It was a glorious end to the fireworks show. Katara begins to clap her appreciation from her balcony setting. As she brings her hands together, her left arm is yanked behind her. She stumbles off balance and falls to her side, landing against the railing. Her feet instantly widen her stance. The soft material of her dress shifts, allowing for her counter defensive. She twists free her captured wrist, releasing her arm and simultaneously landing a swift kick to her assailant's shin. The shadows obscure her aggressor's face, a grunt from her attacker and then a quick stumble into the curtains. The light escapes her bedroom, illuminating her brother's face.

Katara drops her fists. "Nice try, Sokka."

Sokka grins with victory. "I really snuck up on you this time." Bent over, he casts an irritated look at his sister, rubbing his sore shin. "Did you have to kick me so hard?"

Katara changes into a relaxed stance, but is mentally poised in case Sokka makes any sudden moves. Ignoring the encroaching culpability over her instinctual fighter's response, she defends her attack. "I didn't realize that it was you at first." She rubs her sore hip that had hit the balustrade. "It isn't like you were the most gallant assailant; I landed hard on that railing."

"Who else would attack you in your private apartment, but your big bro?" Sokka straightens, shaking his leg one more time to eradicate the final ache from his shin.

The glass doors of her room are more open, flushing the balcony with a yellow glow. Katara leans against the railing. "Frankly, it could have been anyone. I have been nervous the moment we arrived at port. It wasn't like we got the most welcoming of welcomes from the palace."

Sokka joins his sister against the railing. "I have to agree. Prince Scarface is pretty intimidating.

"Even after all the radio reports I wasn't prepared for that scar." Katara knew decorum dictated she shouldn't stare at the prince, but she had been compelled to look upon the disfigurement. While the radio reports were plentiful, the exact nature of the prince's injury had never been disclosed. Staring at the prince, she had felt anything but pity; Zuko conducted himself as if nothing set him apart physically or otherwise from the royal family.

"I don't think we need to worry about Prince Zuko too much; I'm not sure how good of a fighter he could be, since it looks like he already got in the wrong end of a dispute." Sokka states flatly with a slight grimace. "The rest of them I wouldn't trust, their loyalties shift like the wind."

"Prince Lu Ten and Crown Prince Iroh seemed nice." Katara thought of how gallant the Prince had conducted himself with her. The Crown Prince wrote poetry; no one could compose such musical words without tenderness within their soul.

" _Nice_ vanishes the moment power comes into a remote grasp." Sokka didn't need to side with his father out of familial loyalty about certain members of the royal family. Archduke Ozai was a braying rear end of a pig-donkey, and no one manifested a spoiled seaslug disposition more aptly than Princess Azula. "One thing for sure, Miss High and Mighty Stuck-up Princess wouldn't get her hands dirty in a battle. We don't have to worry about her."

Katara laughs, "Yeah, she was a real curoxy. It was hard to not slap her in the face, after the sneering look she gave me for what I am wearing." She held out her skirt to the side, swishing the blue material back and forth. "This dress is much more practical than that elaborate constricting thing Princess Azula wore." A traitorous thought wistfully blew against Southern tribe traditional women's clothing _: it would be nice to wear something elegant and not have it be so sensible_.

Sokka glances surprisingly at his little sister, shocked over Katara's use of profanity. Recovering from his startlement that his sister even knew an obscenity, Sokka concurs with Katara's well worded summation of Azula. "Princess Stuck Up is one nasty curoxy for sure, I pity her future husband."

"Luckily for her, the nobility like arranged marriages." Katara is glad that her tribe doesn't partake in such matters. Marriages in the Southern tribe are solely derived from love matches. She inwardly scoffs; _the royal family considers them the backwoods peasants_.

"Exactly, poor baseborn," Sokka adds his own profane sentiment. "He may seriously rethink about taking a vow of chastity and joining the Air Nation's monk existence after five minutes in Princess Azula's presence." He turns around and stares out beyond the walls.

Katara follows her brother's actions. There is a settled moment of quiet between the siblings, as each take in the bobbing lanterns of light and faint sounds of frivolity from the lower city. Katara finally nudges her brother with a movement of her shoulder. "I'm proud that you finally realized saying _sneak attack_ shouldn't precede an actual sneak attack."

"I only ever said that so you would feel like you had a chance of beating your big bro." Sokka drapes his arm over his sister's shoulders.

Katara leans her head against Sokka. "Thanks for always looking after me."

Puffing out his chest, Sokka boasts proudly. "If I didn't impart my brotherly wisdom and fine-honed fighting skills upon my little sister, what kind of older sibling would I be?" Resting his cheek against the top of Katara's head, a melancholy tone weaved its way into Sokka's words. "I won't always be around to protect you. It was important to me that I taught you how to take care of yourself."

Katara squeezes her eyes shut, forcing the tears away. She couldn't trust herself to speak, so she returns her brother's love by wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

Sokka hugs Katara back and then pushes her away in a playfully annoyed manner. "Enough of this girliness, we're going to miss the whole festival at this mushy rate."

"The whole festival? How?" Katara stands on her tiptoes, trying to see if that gives a better view of the town below. Her briefly added height doesn't change the scenery, only more glimpses of bobbing lights. "I can't see anything from here?"

"Exactly, which is why, we're going down to the lower city and partake in the fun ourselves."

"But…" Katara sputters in disbelief and then whispers nervously, watching the undulating curtains in case there might be a sudden emergence of their father. "Dad said we weren't to go."

"No, Dad said that he would be disappointed if he knew we went."

"Exactly," Katara folds her arms and assumes a disgruntled mother pose, "we're not suppose to go."

"Little sister," Sokka pulls Katara next to his side and rubs her shoulder in a condescending manner. "Everything in life is simple semantics. If Dad never finds out, then we in fact, did not disobey him."

"But," Katara is swayed by her brother's logic, but knows there is faulty reasoning within his words. "I know Dad meant that we weren't to go."

"Meaning is often lost in the translation, little sister. Now, that you are in the Imperial court, it would be wise of you to listen to what isn't conveyed and work within the parameters of what is said, so you may get what you want."

Katara feels irritated at her brother. One of her brother's strengths is donning an air of a brainless simpleton, which makes people drop their veneers, allowing Sokka to shrewdly analyze any situation. Katara believes things should be approached in an open manner and has a hard time deviating from that moral standpoint. Yet, even though she knows what her father wanted, Katara is compelled to be swayed by Sokka's hazy suppositions. The lower city emits another cry of delight, which enticingly drifts up to her, adding another persuasive argument to Sokka's case.

"Alright then, how do you propose that we will scale these heavily guarded walls without alerting the whole palace?" Katara folds her arms across her chest, smiling with triumph, daring her brother to devise a suitable plan.

Sokka grins and strokes his chin beard, "By simply walking through the palace gates." Holding up his hand, Sokka raises his eyebrow to interrupt his sister's protestations. "This isn't my first time visiting the Imperial city. If I hadn't paid attention to more important matters, I would have never had any fun here;" Sokka's face darkened. "And if there was ever a need, I wanted to make sure we had a viable escape." He faced his sister as a mischievous glint came into his eyes. "The palace is operated by the careful hands of servants, who live in the lower city. There are constant shift changes, a place this big cannot operate with the same few people. Concealed doors are scattered along the palace's hallways. The secret entrances are always marked by a particular vase. We enter through those entrances and will sneak down to the servants' quarters. When a shift change occurs, we leave, too."

"It seems reasonable, but what happens if we get caught?"

"Katara, I'm not planning on getting caught." Sokka touches his sister's shoulder, seeing hesitancy weigh upon Katara's face. "Please go, for me."

Katara rushes out before sanity prevails. "Alright, let's go, now, before I rethink this madness."

Clasping Katara to him, Sokka hugs her, choking back his gratitude. He lets her go and grabs her hand. "Follow me towards adventure and food."

Katara shakes her head, "I can't believe you are still hungry after eating most of the dinner."

"So much food and so little time to eat it," Sokka pats his flat belly. "It is a difficult life to be given such an appetite."

Sokka leads Katara out of her bedroom and carefully through the sitting room. Their feet glide across the rich carpet. Both siblings watch Hakoda's door, as they warily creep pass. Every stealthy movement seems amplified to their ears, potentially alerting their father of their intended escape. After an interminable period of mere seconds, they twist the main door's knob and exit the apartment.

The siblings run through several long corridors. Sokka is guiding Katara through the hallways twists and turns. Katara follows closely upon her brother's heels. She dashes by all manner of vases, it seems impossible to discern which one is the correct secret servants' entrance. Lanterns magically alight as Katara and Sokka approach, and then dim to nothing after they race past. As Katara dashes past, she chances a wistful glance at the waning light but suppresses her instinct to marvel over the Fire Nation's ingenuity.

Approaching a rather tall vase with an elongated neck, Sokka slows down. The slender urn is milky white, painted with blue scenes of a lone tiller cultivating several fields of flames. The blue blazes almost resemble rows of wheat. The vase is elegantly made, but doesn't have the rich inlaid attention that the other urns scattered about the palace contain. A quick furtive look down both sides of the hallway, Sokka moves behind the vase and taps the wall five times. A door, not previously visible, slides open, revealing a dark passageway.

"I can't believe it worked." Katara whispers. The entrance has an ominous quality, seeming even blacker as they stand in the lighted hallway. "How did you know to knock five times?"

Sokka points to the fields of flames. "The secret code is indicated on the vases. The number of rows of fire show how many knocks to make upon the wall, and the placement of the farmer in the fields shows where to knock." He points to the bent worker digging with his hoe. "The farmer is located in the middle, so that means you must tap the wall directly behind the urn. If he was at the beginning or end, it would be left or right of the vase."

"I'm impressed that you could discern all that from watching some servants enter and exit."

"The servants are to be hidden. They never do it in public, but I'm sneakier." Sokka replies dryly, "I'm glad you have such strong faith in your bro."

"More like skeptical optimism." Katara pushes her brother toward the secret entrance. "I'm getting nervous that we're inviting someone to find us." The palace has a decided air of being quiet and settled, but Katara feels a mounting sense of dread at what they are attempting.

Taking one more careful look down the hallway, Sokka jerks his head toward the passageway. "You're right, let's get in there before someone notices us mucking about."

The two siblings enter the dark hallway. The door slides shut as soon as they are both inside. The hallway is completely black. Katara begins to panic, but the moment of utter darkness is chased away with the blinking of soft lights. There are no obvious lanterns, and yet the hallway is plainly lit.

Sokka leads them down a hallway which is the seemingly only the width of their shoulders. It is impossible to think that servants could fit trays of food or anything beyond a slender person through the secret passageway. Yet, when Katara begins to stick out her arms, the hallway immediately accommodates her enlarged action.

"Sokka, did you see that?" Katara gasps, watching in amazement as she brings in her arms the hallway shrinks back to shoulder width.

"Katara, be serious and pay attention." Sokka pretends to be annoyed, but was as surprised as his sister about the mysterious mechanics of the passage the first time he had ventured down the dark hallway.

A general glow ahead starts small, but grows as they near it. Sokka pauses, holding back his arm. Katara tries to peak over her brother's shoulder and can get a tiny glimpse of a series of lockers. Sudden voices have Sokka whip his head around and pointedly glare at Katara to not stir. She returns his fierce look with one that clearly states she isn't a complete seal-otter baby. She thinks moodily to herself that if she didn't have her own sneaky ways she wouldn't have gotten any secret helpings of Gran Gran's famous chocolate cream dessert.

A gruff voice became clearer. "Did you make it to Madame's Fire Sprites last evening?"

"Make it," a nasal male voice replied, "I spent all my allotment there, but it was worth it. I paid a mint but got into the room of the seven veils."

A swift-intake of surprise, "That is only reserved for the prestigious levels. What was it like?"

"I was placed in my own box and seven curtains began to move. It was like they were fire flames darting here and there. A heat began within me, something I can presume only the most skilled of firebenders experience. Slowly a veil was lifted allowing a further glimpse of her. I could only pay for one to be lifted, but it was still worth every penny to see her writhing and dancing before me."

"How can you be sure it was a _her_? There are shims in the lower city."

"No shim could possess those curves. The fire sprite would dance closer. The material ran against her like it wasn't even there, but a mere film of flame. She caressed her nipples till they were so pert that I thought I would grow mad from being so hard."

The gruff voice seemed to almost groan out his question. "Did you touch yourself?"

"I strained and was desperate to stroke myself, especially when she pleasured her lower regions. Her head was thrown back in such ecstasy. It was agony, but it was expressly forbidden." Nasal voice dips and both Katara and Sokka lean in closer. "There are eyes and ear everywhere." Both siblings press back into the shadows, guilt and fear cloaking them again. The nasal voice wheezes, "It will take me two cycles, but I will go again. It was worth every fire farthing."

"I will save my money and go home, plowing my wife extra hard tonight instead. I often pretend there is a veil over her face." Both voices guffaw loudly in unison. "Come on, shift change, soon."

After the footsteps recede, Sokka peers out carefully, stepping toward a line of lockers. He looks about and then motions to Katara to join him by a locker. He leans in closely and listens while picking the lock.

"Sokka, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting us some clothes. We can't wear our Southern Tribe clothes and exit without alerting everyone." Sokka's fingers nimbly open the lock, and the door swings open.

Katara hisses, "We can't steal someone else's clothes either." Gran Gran admonishes a sing-song chastisement within Katara about how foolish it was to even attempt this exploit.

"We aren't stealing. We're borrowing. Besides, we will be back before these people will miss them " Sokka reaches into the locker and grabs some clothes. He inspects them, tosses a shirt to Katara. "Put this on. The shift change has happened. People are expected to be at that their stations already." Sokka takes the jacket, threading his arms into the sleeves. "Come on, take off your dress and put on that shirt. We don't have all day. We will be late for change through."

"I don't have any pants to wear?"

As Sokka crams the hat on his head, he motions for Katara to get dressed. "Your pantaloons are boring enough to not bring any attention."

"What am I suppose to do with my dress?" Katara lifts up her dress and inspects her leggings self consciously. She always thought they were quite pretty.

Sokka rolls his eyes and tries to maintain his temper. "Use it to wrap your hair. Those hair loopies give you away as being not Fire Nation."

Katara touches her braids with a frown and mumbles, "It's my best dress. It will get all wrinkly."

Sokka grins. "It is still your best dress, just on your head."

Katara glares at him and begins to yank her shift over her head. She quickly puts on the shirt. The fear over potentially getting caught in only her bindings, make her fingers nimble with dressing. She gulps and tries to avoid the sick feeling in her stomach at taking her best dress and tying it into knots as she makes a head-wrapping.

Sokka closes the locker. "We're not out in the clear yet."

Katara follows her brother from the locker area to a massive hallway. It is a teaming thoroughfare. Servants are rushing quickly back and forth, transporting all manner of items. The temperature is significantly higher than the inner room. Katara's senses are extra sensitive. Smells barrage her; she can almost taste a variety of spices upon her tongue as a huge tray of food glides past her. She narrowly misses colliding with it. Everyone is a moving blur. Yet, her body feels sluggish, except for her senses. Her ears ring with a cacophony of sounds and conversations snatch in and out of comprehension. The combined effects of being bombarded make her feel almost dizzy.

Sokka beckons Katara to follow him. They rush down the transport alley. Sokka is focused upon a laundry cart being pushed toward the main exit. He had brought along a supply of materials. His father had taught him to always be wary of outsiders. Knowing the perils that could await Sokka's family in Imperial City, he wanted to make sure he was ready for anything. Reaching into his pocket, he tosses a small object at the heels of the servant. Tribesmen often toss a slug ball, upon contact, it explodes silently and instantly induces a person to slip and fall.

Running up to the tripped servant, Sokka reaches into his pocket again. Removing his hand, he rubs his thumb and index finger together.

"Let me help you." Sokka quickly swipes his two fingers across the man's brows and under his nose. The ointment is a favorite device, derived from the Saxifrage bloom. Like many things from the tundra, it can be utilized in a variety of ways. The flower can be crushed through a press and the oil seeping out between the wooden boards is collected, boiled down and made into a concentrated sleeping draught.

"You look hot," Sokka carries the limping servant toward the side wall.

"Thank you," slurs from the drooping mouth of the swiftly becoming unconscious servant.

Sokka indicates that Katara should hop into the laundry cart. She jumps in and hides beneath the stack of dirty linens. There is a musty smell that immediately assails her. She pushes down her nausea and calms her senses. The cart and herself lurch forward. Katara braces herself against the cart's walls and prays to _Yue_ they make it out without discovery.

The laundry cart was pushed through a tunnel. Sokka was normally quick witted, but he was always extra insightful whenever he entered the main alley of the servant's wing. He knew exactly what to do as soon as he saw the laundry cart. He hadn't wanted to admit to Katara that he didn't have a plan, beyond knowing the location of the passageway.

As Sokka neared the exit, the air seemed more fluid. His brain didn't have an extra speed of ingenuity flooding it. Catching up with the disappearing line of exiting servants, Sokka assumes a submissive attitude beneath the guards' careful gazes.

Shoulders stooped, Sokka maintains his gaze in the typical humble servant manner, downcast. His heart almost stopped in fear when a guard spontaneously inspected a servant's basket of wares in front of him. After the cursory examination, the servant was shoved beyond the gate with the helpful assist from the muzzle of the guard's rifle. Sokka hurried after the stumbling man and his basket, out of the last gate check-point.

It was relief when Sokka pushed the cart onto the cobble street and quickly turned down a side alley. He moved the cart behind a large fire-rose bush. Lifting up a clump of the dirty linens, Sokka pokes at his sister's bowed shoulder.

Katara glanced up from her huddled position with slight trepidation. "Are we safe?"

"Safe?" Sokka thought about all that could still go wrong, but refrained from mentioning it. "Yes, we made it beyond the walls." As he helped his sister out of the cart, Sokka hoped the rest of the evening would be without trouble and that he hadn't toyed with Tui and La's goodwill by playing fluid with Hakoda's directives.

"I can't believe we made it." Katara hugged her brother. "What should we do first?"

"Eat of course," Sokka's stomach concurs with the first item upon the itinerary. He pats his tight abs in promised encouragement.

Katara laughs, shaking her head. She is suddenly glad that she is spending this rare moment of true freedom with her brother. Together, they run toward the lights and sounds of the festival merriment.

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 **A/N:** I hope you enjoyed it. Leave the standard and most honored of payments in reviews, favorites or follows. I leave you now my sweet fans wherever you may be.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Well peeps, it's been a long time. I'm sorry, but this chapter went all over the place. Honestly, it was a dragon tail that I couldn't get a hold of and grew into a monster of plot lines. I tamed the beast and have a nice Christmas gift to my few and lovely peeps. Speaking of which, thank you so much to neverlandarling, I got a real boost to dig into this chapter after your review and PM, hugs and love. Bendingdreams made my dream come true with a follow. Annabellee923, yippee follow, hope you like this gift. Tchundjong, you sweet thing you, I so appreciate your review and favorite. Smylealong2k, thank you for review and follow. The Elements Lord, love that name btw, mucho happiness for favorite. I think that is everyone. I want to recognize you, because honestly you help so much. Alright, on with the show!

 **Disclaimer** : Don't want coal in my stocking, so gotta say, own nothing of _Avatar the Last Airbender_.

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Merchants robustly hail the advertisement of their wares. Their booming voices commingle with musicians and troupes who play for idly tossed, spare change. Street lamps glow with colorful flames, a flickering of changing brightness. Festival spectators parade through the kaleidoscope. Men, women, and children of all economic levels mingle among the vendors and performers, a vibrant spectrum of people adding to the grand illumination of the night.

The upper-class elite sought out the best dressmakers for the occasion. Women wear elaborate hats with ornamentation, perched upon crowns of curls. Some don eye-masks with feathers and cascading ribbons. Ladies' bustled skirts flounce as they sashay down the boulevard on the arms of their top-hatted escorts. Men are dapper in their long pants and coats, vests sport dangling watch fobs with golden links and jingling jewels. The men, too, wear fully painted guises tied behind their heads. Gentlemen casually note passing acquaintances or key social connections. The separate classes, usually distinctly divided except for servitude interactions, brush past each other, oblivious to the melding of their ranks.

High above the pedestrians, hanging from the black iron lamp posts, is a perfect vantage point for pickpockets. These quick-footed children scan for an unsuspecting mark among the meandering multitude. The varied aged children's grubby faces may seem innocent with numerical standards, but life's ample disappointments have made them wily to survive within Imperial City. The patrolling policemen knock off the thieves from the poles, hollering and waving their bobby sticks at the scattering pilfers. The vagrants flea and then slowly creep back to their roosts, when the officer has drifted to the next lamp post.

Katara giggles to herself over the antics of the children. Yet, sadness withers her mirth, these young thieves were driven to be scavengers out of a desperate situation or even forced into thieving servitude. Katara hangs her head over the decaying state of the world. She strides away from the demoralizing scene, missing the comforting company of her brother. Sokka and she had agreed to explore on their on and then meet up at the two-headed dragon fountain, located in main courtyard not too far from the palace.

Katara saunters past open businesses. Absently, she lifts up wares along the carts, returning the items. The range of commodities reflects the talents of the kingdoms. Katara fingers each oddity with fascination and a secret desire. She lingers over a broach fashioned from a blood-red lily.

"You have a good eye," The shop keeper pounces with relish from a sale. "You picked the Dragon Lily, prized for its beauty and deadly properties."

Katara is familiar with her home's fauna, but never heard of the Dragon Lily. "Is it a local plant?"

"It was, but now all but extinct. It can only be found in far outreaches of the fire nation, if it is even there at all. A decree four scores ago made it legal to eradicate it."

Katara runs her hand along the red enamel and gold inlay. "How sad."

"Many met the spirits before their time by sampling the Dragon Lily."

"But you said it was prized for its beauty." Katara picks up the broach and examines the altering fronds that fan out, beckoning a caress along its cupped fronds.

"Yes, it was often given as a love token. You see, the Dragon Lily is only deadly when boiled down to its essence, as a plant it is harmless." The shopkeeper grins beguilingly, "Like some many things, beauty can entice but also hide deeper desires."

"It is beautiful, and anyone would be lucky to wear this broach," Katara holds the pin up to her shirt and admires her reflection in the proffered mirror, appearing from the shopkeeper. "But I have no money to purchase it unfortunately."

Snatching the broach from Katara's palm, the shopkeeper barks, "Leave my stall, you loiterer, stop wasting my time."

Katara stumbles back and blushes in embarrassment at the odd looks and suspicious glances from the other customers. She swings away, walking quickly from the glaring merchant. Slowing down, she thinks about the kind of person that would knowingly give the Dragon Lily and what the deeper meaning for such a gift. Are they afraid their lover will cheat and warning of the deadly consequences? Moving with the flow of the crowd, Katara finally sees the two headed Dragon fountain. Its dual heads of bronze spout water, standing on the marble ledge is her brother. She waves wildly at him.

Scanning the passing festival goers, Sokka brightens when he sees his sister. "Katara! Look!" He holds three spears of roasted meat in his hand. Jumping from the lip of the fountain, Sokka weaves his way over to his sister. The roasted spears of meat are held loftily over his head.

Katara shakes her head. Sokka's ability to find food is uncanny. "Are those only for you, or can I have one, too?"

Sokka's face falls and then cheers. "I guess I could spare one." He thrusts a kebab at her. "One roasted cow-pig for the young girl with the dress head wrap."

Katara touches her head self-consciously. "Why did you say that? Do you think my head wrap looks weird?"

Sokka views the bizarre masks that the men are wearing with grotesque features or sinister blue grins of protruding incisors. "Not in this crowd." Staring at the held out spear of juicy cooked meat, Sokka begins to regret his generosity. "Do you want the food or not?"

Katara takes it from her brother before he can retract his offer. "Thanks, Sokka." The rich spices infuse her senses, and her stomach calls out for attention. Katara closes her eyes and takes her bite. While she is fond of Gran Gran's sea-slug stew and clam-scallops, she must admit this is delicious. "Sokka, it is superb, thank you, but please tell me you didn't steal it." She takes another bite, chewing reluctantly.

"No! Give me some credit; I got someone to pay for it." Sokka looks around him and then yells out over the heads of the milling people, "Aang, I found her! We're over here!"

Aang rises in the air above the heads of the pedestrians. Sokka takes another bite of food, waving wildly at the floating air nomad.

Katara watches Aang drift over the heads of the spectators. "You got Aang to pay for it?" She feels slightly guilty, but her stomach rumbles its delight over the roasted snack.

"Yes and before you give some high-handed lecture, Aang wanted to." Sokka rips off a chunk of meat from the spear. "I would have insulted him if I declined."

Aang lands next to them with a small whoosh of air cushioning his landing. "Hi, Katara." Aang smiles at Katara, elated to see her again,

"Hi, Aang, you didn't have to buy Sokka food."

"I know, but I wanted to." Aang takes in Katara delicate coloring highlighting her high cheekbones. After their parting and Katara's ominous declaration of leaving Imperial City, Aang was positive he would be relegated to visions of her in his dreams. He didn't think he would have a viable excuse to visit the royal palace, even with his few connections in the Imperial Guard. The fact that Sokka ran into him was a miracle, a spirit intervention from on high.

Sokka had been part of a winding tail of vagabond children, waiting to catch a fallen item from a food peddler. The tail would swing depending on where the food and the peddler went; Sokka had in turned smacked into Aang. Both of them shook their dazed feelings. Sokka was the first to recover and give Aang a friendly, ' _Hey Buddy, fancy running into you',_ greeting _._

Katara blushes over Aang's scrutiny and wonders if she does look strange with her dress on her head. She touches it absently, trying to straighten it on her head. "It's lucky for us that we get to see you again."

Sokka says between bites, "Yeah, I'll say, really lucky." He claps Aang on the shoulder. "The universe reached out and plucked Aang from his boring naval job and floated him right into me."

Aang looks a little confused, "That's not really how airbending works besides you ran into me."

"Whatever buddy, it's all spooky voodoo magic to me." Sokka tears off a piece of meat, chewing loudly. "My stomach is having its own festival of good times with this meat."

Katara holds up her kebab, "Thank you, Aang, for filling Sokka's and my stomachs. We don't have any money for food or really anything for that matter." She glances around at the stalls and thinks upon the lost broach. She quickly looks back at Aang, hoping he hadn't taken that as a hint for him to purchase her a bauble. "Of course, the true pleasure for me is to be here at the festival."

Aang sidles next to Katara, close enough to almost brush his shoulder against hers. "Do you have festivals at home?"

'Long ago, now our funds must be used for either supplies or the tribute." Katara can feel an itching in her fingers as the anger of the situation the world has thrust upon Southern Water Tribe consumes her. She can feel the pull of the moon. She balls her hands into a fist to still the waterbending sensation.

Aang concurs sadly, "The air nation had monthly festivals to celebrate the spirits. We would dance, play music, and eat delicacies. It was the time when we came together as one people, but we too had to stop for the tribute." He looks around at the lights and revelry with a peaceful smile. "This festival reminds me of the joy that you share with family and friends."

Katara reaches out and touches Aang's arm. "It must be difficult to be without your family and friends."

Aang places his hand over Katara's and looks deeply into her azure eyes. "That is why I appreciate my new friends."

Sokka perks up at a passing food peddler, who calls out the virtues of his marvelous drinks. "I want to try one of those fire-fizzes."

Katara wrinkles her nose; it can be wearisome to have most of their activities center around her brother's appetite. "Is that all you plan to do at the festival is eat and drink?" Turning away from Aang, his hand falls from her arm. She places her hands on her hips and wonders why her brother even wanted her to come along.

Sokka tears off the final piece of meat with the hot spiced sauce and speaks between chewing. "Yes, a full stomach tonight and next, and right until the tribute, what a way to go."

"You would think that." Katara's stomach turns, and the stick of meat in her hand suddenly seemed unappealing. She hands it to her brother and turns away. "I wish you weren't so cavalier about why we're here. It isn't a joking matter."

"Do you mind if we don't have this discussion again? I want to enjoy my evening, thank you."

"Fine, sorry." Katara turns away. If Sokka is determined to accept his fate, she is equally as determined to thwart it.

Aang leans into Katara and thumps her with her shoulder. She glances over at him and he smiles. "Honestly, fire-fizz isn't that great, unless your aim is to get drunk."

Katara appreciates Aang's sweet gesture to alleviate the tension between siblings, even though he is oblivious to their interchanges truer intent. A band of musicians fills the area with joyous sounds. Katara turns to listen. It had been so long since she had heard live music. The sporadic times were rare at home and usually depended on whether the tribe could get a radio signal. She moves closer to the musicians, tapping her foot to the rhythm produced.

A wiry Imperial Guard with gray whiskers, trimmed in severe mutton chops along his cheeks, snatches a fire-fizz from the passing peddler, ignoring the merchant's shouts of outrage to pay for the pilfered product. The soldier takes a long drink and tosses the bottle away, where it breaks upon the cobbled stones. His red imperial uniform silences the merchant's more strident call for the police. A shorter man, wearing the same Imperial Guard with matching lower tier brocade rank, teeters next to his cohort, having already partaken in several pints of liquid fire drink.

The two men typically occupy the lower rim of Imperial City, spending their time in the whore houses, where the whores were cheap and the thrills easy. This evening, they hadn't strayed very far from their posts at the palace. The idea of trying their luck with women, mainly inebriated ones, and avoid another case of flea-crabs, was more appealing.

"Look at them, Dimni, so many drunk women who can be easily charmed." The lean man scratched his crotch, as his eyes wander from one woman or other, who laughingly tip back the heady fire-fizz brew.

"Yon Ra, you do like them drunk." Dimni staggers over to the peddler, paying the merchant more for the bottle to make up for Yon Ra's earlier rudeness.

Yon Ra had settled his sights upon a busty woman, who kept tripping over the hem of her dress, guffawing as she lifted up her skirt flashing her undergarments for all to see. Yon Ra imagines dragging her into the nearest alley, bending her over while he rammed into her from behind. Yon Ra starts to slink over to the foolish drunk woman on pretext of offering assistance, when his eyes flit to a peasant woman in a strange headwrap listening to a cluster of musicians. Yon Ra feels a growing tightening in his pants at the sight of the brown exotic woman. "There is a prize to be won, Dimni." He flicks his head over to the caramel skinned woman, who is clapping in time to the music.

"Her, she doesn't look drunk enough to be swayed by your charms, Yon Ra." Dimni takes another swig of fire-fizz.

"She'll be grateful that I paid her attention. By the looks of her, she must be one of those Southern Water Tribe scum, who washed into port today. More and more of the Fire Nation is being overrun by the unclean." Yon Ra spits onto the cobble-paved street, barely missing a refined man's winged tipped shoes.

Dimni isn't in the mood to listen to Yon Ra's rants about the immigrants which flood the city; driven out of fear for the faceless ones, the migrants are enticed by the prospect of wealth. The city welcomes the cheap labor that is considered degrading to the long time imperial citizens. Dimni has learned it is best to be drunk as possible to endure another diatribe. He tips back the mug and drinks deeply, before exhaling a fiery breath of flames which lick his lips and singe his mustache.

"I will have her." Yon Ra scratches his crotch. "It is my right."

Dimni points to the boy of similar coloring near the girl, but a head taller than she. "I wouldn't bother, Yon Ron. Her husband might cause trouble. We don't need another demerit. We will be kicked off the royal guard and forced to serve in the outskirts battalion."

Yon Ra turns his anger to Dimni. "I didn't ask for your opinion."

Dimni shrugs. He doesn't want to deal with Yon Ra when the fire-fizz is a much more pleasant companion. Shrugging, he watches as Yon Ra struts over in his royal garb toward the unsuspecting girl.

Katara drifts closer to the trio of players, a panflute, flugelhorn, and sitar. The tinkling of music washes over and calms her. She closes her eyes, swaying back and forth. Yon Ra stands next to Katara, waiting and then frustrated that he is ignored, bumps into her. With a start, Katara assumes that she knocked into the man and backs away apologetically.

"Pardon me, Sir." Katara stares at man with a pock-marked face and gray whiskers.

"Are you having a good time?" Yon Ra twists his smile into what is presumably a friendly expression, but has more sinister undertones.

"I am, thank you, if you'll excuse me." Katara tries to extradite herself pleasantly.

Yon Ra snakes out his hand and grabs Katara's arm, gripping it tightly. "Where are you going, peasant?"

Katara twists her arm away with a quick motion. "How dare you touch me! You are no gentleman."

Yon Ra eyes lower into slits of anger. Katara tosses her head in the air with a sniff. She stomps away, wishing she had never apologized to the ruffian in the first place.

Aang and Sokka swarm over to Katara and quickly whisper to her, periodically verifying information by looking at the vile perpetrator. Katara gestures and relays the tense exchange between Yon Ra and her. Aang and Sokka's looks morph from concern into outrage, clouding their faces. Katara gently assures that she is fine. Aang and Sokka point for her to stand at a distance, while they march over to the unflinching Yon Ra, whose lip is curled in disgust throughout the distant exchange.

Sokka points threateningly at Yon Ra. "Jerk, did you touch my sister?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Yon Ra says with derision. "I thought she was a wandering whore, looking for a good time."

"What! You dung-ass!" Sokka grabs the front of Yon Ra's uniform and swing back his fist, throwing a swift punch to Yon Ra's face, who staggers back. The soldier wipes the dripping blood from his lip. Yon Ra rolls up his sleeves with deliberate motions. Sokka doesn't crouch into a fighting stance, but waits. Yon Ra yells out a fearsome roar as he charges. Sokka easily side-steps the man, and then thrusts out his foot, which causes Yon Ra to trip. The soldier tumbles on the dirty pavers, ripping his uniform in the process. He lays sprawled on the road with legs and arms out.

Aang holds up his hand and places one finger on his palm, twirling it around. Yon Ra begins to spin in a slow circle with ever increasing speed. "You need to learn some manners; of course, being Imperial Guard, I would have thought you would have already had that instilled in you." Aang stops his motion and then flicks his hand to the side. This causes Yon Ra to fly into a cart.

The merchant rears back in agony as his cart of produce tumbles out. "My cabbages!" He busily gathers the precious items to his chest, examining and grieving over each damaged leaf.

Yon Ra is lifted again with a flick of Aang's hand. Spinning in air, Yon Ra is dropped firmly into a passing street cleaner's cart of ostrich horse dung. The street cleaner backs up, shocked over the sudden deposit. The crowd erupts in laughter.

Aang and Sokka shake hands and make a formal bow at each other. Katara laughs openly, running up to her brother and Aang. "Thank you, you didn't have to do that. I had it handled."

"Yeah, we did," Sokka drapes his arm over his sister's shoulders. "He needed to be taught a water tribe lesson..." Glancing over at Aang, he adds, "with a little bit of airbender mumbo jumbo thrown in." Wanting to get away and not attract more attention, Sokka motions. "Come on, let's get out of here." The three of them chuckle as they dash off into the crowd, which has suddenly lost interest in the man who is covered in dripping dung and buzzing flies.

Dimni shrugs as he walks up to the scowling Yon Ra. "I told you she wouldn't be interested."

Yon Ra hisses. "She won't be all high and mighty after the slavers get her. She will pay for this slight against me. She deserves to be covered in dung, worthless slut, not me, and I will make a nice purse of gold fire farthings out of her mistake."

Dimni was horrified. He knew Yon Ra had a temper and was often thrown out of the brothels for starting fights. "I'm not drunk enough to get tangled with the slavers." He waves his hand, backing away. "Slavers won't want someone that will have people missing them. You're a fool for thinking otherwise."

Yon Ra spits at Dimni.

Feces and saliva run down Dimni's face. He swipes away the filth with the back of his hand, as he yells, "Fruroc you and the mother of cock-burro you road on! I don't need this or you!"

Yon Ra doesn't care that Dimni stormed off or probably will never speak to him again. Yon Ra considers Dimni beneath him, born from a mixed family. Dimni is another example of the growing problem with the Fire Nation and why Yon Ra has been continually denied a higher ranking or even a raise; the intermingling of country and blood is destroying opportunities for true Fire Nation citizens. The fact that Yon Ra was barely adequate at his job, and that his mother's prestigious station upon retirement had given her sway with the Imperial Guard to provide Yon Ra with a position in the first place, bore little value for Yon Ra's twisted rationale.

Yon Ra dashed down the road to a local hawk delivery center. Bursting through the door, he ignored the stares at his appearance. He threw down more than enough fire farthings to quell questions or concerns over his dripping mess. Yon Ra scrawls a message, attaching it to the hawk's leg. The hawk keeper takes the bird out back to release and locate the recipient. Yon Ra will get his revenge and that girl will rue the day she spurned his advances, especially after the slavers get a hold of her. Not wanting to lose sight of his mark, Yon Ra races out in the crowd to watch from a distance, keeping to the shadows.

The moon had moved direction. Katara can feel the shift and suddenly tiredness begins encroaching upon her. She rubs her eyes and yawns.

"Katara?"

The sound of Sokka's voice causes her to open her eyes upon a blue and white painted demon. Rearing back, she recoils in fright. Her fists held up for protection.

Sokka pushes up the mask, cackling with laughter. "Got ya!"

"Sokka!" Katara leans in to punch her brother on the shoulder, not with force, but strong enough to project her annoyance over his prank. "You gave me a fright."

Sokka examines the mask. "Aang got it. He said it is the Blue Spirit or something. A local deity that causes mayhem or some kind of hero, anyway, crazy, huh?" Sokka holds the mask up his face again, the white teeth protrude and toothy smile grin through the blue and white lines of the face.

Katara reaches over and snatches it from her brother.

"Hey!" Sokka pouts, "Aang said I could have it."

"Yeah, how will you hide it from Dad?"

"Oh, Dad, right, didn't think of the all prying Dad to find my souvenir."

"Exactly, speaking of Dad, we need to get home. The moon has changed positions, in a couple of hours it will be morning." The mask was light weight in her hand. The menacing laugh seemed to look into her soul and judge her. "We should probably say our good-bye to Aang." Glancing up, she looks around area getting more crowded. "Where is he?"

"He wanted to go get something." Sokka shrugs. "He said he would be back."

Someone jostles Katara from behind. A mass of people seem to be pushed into the square. "This area is getting really crowded, let's leave."

A bomb explodes, releasing a plume of gas. The crowd panics and begins to shove each other, trying to find a way out of the growing white smog. Screams fill the night, as Katara finds herself in a fog of chaos. People shove her, and she reaches out to grab Sokka's hand, but only finds herself pushed more away.

A loud voice booms above the fray, "Down with the Imperialist scum, down with the empire!"

Katara finds herself shoved into people and carts. She is knocked one way or another in this blinding sea of smoke, sweat, screams, and fear. She yells for her brother, but her cries are mingled with a massive mob of collective fear. Katara yanks off her dress from her head and covers her mouth. Coughing, she knows she will keep her head down and her body closely protected. They weren't far from the curb before the bomb. If she can get close to the buildings, she may find more shelter and able to get her bearings. She trips, falls, and slams her knee into the curb. Ignoring the pain, she pushes herself up and stumbles over the street's edge. She feels relief, but runs smack into something solid. It isn't a building, but a man's chest. She looks up into a gas mask. Iron hands grip her and whip her around. Before Katara can kick or scream, a bag is thrown of her head and her hands are looped behind her back with a rope knot.

The voice is muffled, but triumphant "Got you!" can be heard.

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 **A/N:** Good news...I know I've said that before, but I got a whole bunch written, almost three chapters worth. Bad news, I have to untangle it so it can be readable. Hoping to get something up in the beginning of New Year. Blessed holidays to all, be safe! Leave a little present under my tree with a review, PM, follow, or favorite.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I fought demons untold to bring you this chapter. I did it for my love of the reviews, favorites, follows, and PM's. The multiple guest reviewers I cannot thank you personally, but you aren't nameless to me. Your words count, so multiple thank you's to you! Special shout out to ML8991, you have given me special glows of happiness with your passionate interest. The quickness of this chapter's release are primarily due to the magic conversations with ML8991 and also Neverlandarling who asked for a little pick-me-up (cough, cough, a while ago) and I couldn't seem to get that last chapter written. Neverlandarling, this is a belated get well gift to you. I would also like to thank Anita guest who helped me change up again my description. I think I might have gotten some more hits, so thanks to you.

 **Disclaimer:** Too tired to fight against the tide, don't own rights to _Avatar the Last Airbender_.

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Katara's screams are silenced with the din of thundering feet, the rampaging hysteria, and a hard blow to her face. The acrid taste of blood fills her mouth and trickles out of the corner of her lip. The burlap sack, a hood over Katara's eyes, hinders what the darkness and smoke have already cloaked. Thrown over her assailant's shoulder, he runs away from the chaos. His hard shoulder bone jars Katara's stomach with steady punches to her gut. A faint, pungent odor assails her senses. The smell quells her fears, along with the question of why she has been kidnapped. These are non-issues as her mind searches for ideas to aid in her escape.

 _Sokka held up his fists which were cushioned with leather, boxing gloves. He followed Katara circling movements. Her penetrating stare searched for the right moment to launch her attack. Sokka dropped his left glove slightly, leaving an opening for a lightning fast jab. Katara smiled and leaned in for the swing, but Sokka raised his glove quickly, simultaneously kicking snow into Katara's face. She sputtered as wet clumps slid down her face. She shook her head furiously to knock off the rest of the snow. Sokka laughed. "Baby sister, don't let anyone know what you are planning or that mistake will become their advantage."_

The coarse rope cuts into her skin, as Katara slides her wrists back and forth. The rough bristles create lacerations on her skin. She repeats the motion in time with her assailant's steps, any subtle movement from Katara loosening the rope's knot is obscured by the kidnapper's running. Katara senses a slight slackening of the cordage. Closing her left hand so it is smaller, she twists her wrist, slowly inching her hand from out of the binding. The kidnapper jerks to stop; Katara immediately feigns inertness. Dropping Katara from his shoulder, she falls heavily onto the pavers. She rolls to lessen the impact but issues a groan to make it seem more realistic, wincing, mainly from the fact that her grunt sounds fake to her ears. To maintain a more convincing pretense, Katara draws her knees to her chest and whimpers with false terror.

Tearing off his gas mask, Yon Ra taunts, "That's right, cry, you frurocing curoxy!"

A slow smile pulls up the corner of Katara's mouth; the kidnapper believed her charade. With Yon Ra's voice no longer muffled, Katara recognizes him as the man who tried to accost her. If he has thrown off his mask, it means that they are away from the smoke bombs. There were only two potential avenues for escape in the courtyard Yon Ra had absconded her from, the other two potential exits had been blocked by vendors' carts. With the ensuing pandemonium, Katara knew those exits would have been completely closed off. The rally cry of propaganda and general discord caused by the smoke bombs can be heard in faint bursts, which means they were either close to the palace or in the exact opposite direction, but not far from where she had been originally taken. Regardless of their exact bearings, Katara has to be in a secluded alley to prevent interlopers from intruding upon Yon Ra's nefarious plan.

Katara pretends to scoot away in fear. This subtle act gives her the final opportunity to free her hand; her other one easily slips from out of the knot. She doesn't let the rope drop but clutches it tightly behind her as a flash of insight rises up in a wave.

 _Paku white eyebrow arched, "Study closely," he sneered, "girl." Raising his arms, the snow rose up with billowing liquid wings. Katara flew across the packed tundra; flipping up her hand, she generated an ice spear and sliced through Paku's water shield. Spinning around, Katara kicked up a circle of water, which Paku shoved back onto Katara, drenching her. Paku generated snow shackles, booting Katara's feet to the ground. He motioned at her with his wiggling fingers. Sealed in the snow boots, Katara is drawn closer to her master. She jerked her arms upwards. The snow melted in a flourish of steam. Using the cover, she moves sideways to punch Paku in the arm in hopes of breaking his bending. Her fist almost made contact, but a rolling wooden barrel from behind crashed into Katara, making her fly up into the air. She landed in a puddle of water which iced around her. Her body imprisoned in the crystalline shell, she protested in struggling vane, "No fair! This was supposed to be a water fight!" Paku leaned down and patted Katara's head affectionately, "Dear Girl, when fighting, everything is fair."_

"Don't have anything to say now, do you?" Yon Ra spits into Katara's face. The burlap hood shields her from the spray of spittle. "You could have had a good time with me, but you were high and mighty. You, some Southern boat trash, thought you were too good for a pure blood Fire Nation man. You'll regret that, along with every day forward when you join the other unfortunate slaves. But not before, I have my fill of you." He squats down onto his haunches and runs a hand down Katara's chest, ripping open her shirt. The buttons fly off the material, multiple pings resound upon the cobbled stones. Yon Ra claws at her bindings until one nipple is revealed. The pink rosebud makes him visibly sigh. Leaning back onto his heels, Yon Ra reaches into his pants. A hand runs up and down along his shaft in swift movements. Katara feels herself wanting to recoil but stifles her instinct.

 _Katara was hidden beneath the layered pelts. The soft fur caressed her chubby cheeks, as she slowly slunk along in her camouflage of hides. Gran Gran used a wooden spatula to transfer hot toffee date bars from a metal pan onto a wooden platter. The rich, sweet perfume funneled through the small opening that allowed Katara to see as she quietly crossed from her napping pallet toward the platter of her favorite dessert. Her chubby toddler legs pushed her closer until she was right beside the kitchen counter. With Gran Gran's back still turned, Katara weaved her hand up through the pelts' hole to deftly snatch a bar. As her fingers wrapped around the toffee goody, the wooden spatula cracked down onto Katara's knuckles with a smacking chastisement, causing her to immediately release the treat. Crying out with pain, Katara reeled back; her pelt facade fell back. She shoved her sore little hand into her mouth; big tears ran down her cheeks. Gran Gran bent down and gently rubbed away her grand daughter's marks of pain and embarrassment at getting caught. "Next time, wait for the right moment, I was to exit the kitchen soon, being too eager or too cautious can ruin a pan of delights."_

Yon Ra can feel a building as his hand moves faster along his member, but the crescendo won't release. Frustrated, he ogles the southern slut's brown aureole and pink nipple. He runs the tip of his tongue along his lips but the sight of Katara's exposed nipple doesn't prove successful in sending him over the edge. Glancing behind him, there is a bright flash of two headlights and the muffled rumble of truck wheels. Yon Ra won't have time to fully take this curoxy. He looks at her burlap mask in agitation and realizes that it impedes him from seeing her fear. The mere flash of potential dominance makes Yon Ra inch closer toward his climax. His hand quickens in response and eagerness with the notion of seeing the brown exotic's terror. Reaching behind Katara's head, Yon Ra tears her mask brusquely over her face, yanking out some of her hair in the process.

Katara blinks her eyes. The dim light gives her immediate assessment of the situation, from the man's greasy locks hanging and triumphant gleam to a blocked alley end and only one exit ahead. Most of the feces that had covered Yon Ra looked to have been washed off in sloppy strokes; what hadn't been removed, had dried, flaking off during the run. A dirty trail of lines and a faint smell were the only hallmarks of his previous scuffle with Sokka and Aang.

Katara seizes upon Yon Ra's moment of basking glory and his hand firmly entrenched in his pants to jump to her feet. She swings out the rope from behind her back with a decided crack. The quick motion slides the loose knot down the length and tightens it into a weighted end. Undulating her weapon back and forth, she advances upon her startled adversary.

Yon Ra falls back in surprise, sprawling across the pavers. His pants unzipped; his phallus spills out of the opening and dangles limply. His apprehension at the reversal of his fortunes reduces his erect phallus to a minuscule size. Scrambling back, he looks around and notices the lights of the truck beaming down the alleyway. Katara keeps her fluid motion of the rope, pushing him against the brick building. Hurling one end of the rope at Yon Ra, he catches it with both of his hands. The act and squeal of wheels combine.

"Gotcha!" Yon Ra says triumphantly with the tightened rope in his grip.

Katara whips the rope around both of Yon Ra's clasped hands; yanking hard, she causes him to fall forward onto the pavers. The combined brunt force breaks his nose, blood pools. Yon Ra's arms are held out tied in front of him. Katara continues to loop the rope with several passes around Yon Ra's wrists, before finally creating a tight bind.

The truck screeches into the alley, as Katara finishes completing her knot. The vehicle skids around Katara. As it passes, she throws out the weighted rope end. It loops around the bumper, jerking Yon Ra forward and dragging him helplessly after the truck. The slamming of breaks makes the truck come to an abrupt stop. Yon Ra bounces along the cobbled pavers and then smashes against the truck's bumper and back wheels. He moans through his bloodied face, writhing in pain.

Two men fling open the truck's doors, scrambling out in disbelief. Katara doesn't wait to glimpse their identities. She spins on her heels and begins to dash down the alley. Her escape is impeded when a figure suddenly drops down in front of her. She glances up and only sees the surrounding rooftops as an explanation of his appearance. As Katara renews her fighting stance, she notices with blessed relief that the apparition is wearing the blue and white grinning mask, protruding incisors, and pointy horns.

"Sokka!" Katara exhales with explosive relief. She throws her arms around her brother. It is in that moment, the fear she had squashed down bubbles up into a choking sob. "Thank Yue!" She can hear a quick hitch of breath, as she squeezes him. Sokka's arms don't wrap around her in an answering hug. She drops her arms and examines him, punching his black clad shoulder playfully. "You could have saved time on playing dress-up and gotten here sooner." Backing up, the toothy-grinned mask moves up and down in review of his attire, closely fitted dark clothing and a sword diagonally strapped to his back. Katara whips around with fists raised. The odds of two skilled fighters are stacked heavily in their favor, she doesn't want to escape now but deal out a heavy dose of payback. "With you here, these cretins will seriously regret taking me."

The men run to the truck's bumper and take in the state of Yon Ra beneath the wheels, who is whimpering in his own pool of blood.

A skinny man in a light green tunic cracks out his disbelief at what was supposed to be an easy shipment retrieval. "What kind of crazy curoxy did Yon Ra get us?" A man with bulging muscles in a torn shirt and red scarf shrugs his agreeing confusion.

A feathered lizard flies out from the truck's cabin; flapping around the vehicle, it parrots back in a sing-song caw, "Crazy curoxy, crazy curoxy!"

"Pirates!" Katara cautions grimly, "Watch for their hidden bag of tricks." She holds out her fists, waiting for a standard Sokka wisecrack, like _Aye, aye, matey_ or something along those eye-rolling lines, but none is forthcoming. Glancing over, Katara sees the Blue Spirit is slowly pulling out his sword. "Sokka, take off that dumb mask. You'll fight better if you can see." Ignoring her request, she irritatingly moves in front of him to flip off his disguise. Instantly a black gloved hand snakes out to grab Katara's wrist, preventing her removal action. The Blue Spirit mask whips around, staring pointedly at her with its mocking grin. Katara looks to her tightly held hand and knows Sokka would have made some ridiculous quip by now. This demon isn't her brother.

The skinny pirate with a wide-toothed smile that stretched from ear to ear cackles in glee, "Thanks, Blue Spirit for helping to trap this exotic curoxy. Yon Ra is right. She will fetch a pretty penny in the Earth kingdom."

Katara lashes out her other hand, placing it on top of the Blue Spirits' grip. She tweaks his wrist with a sharp flip, and the Blue Spirits' knees quickly buckle. She spins away. With a flying kick to Blue Spirit's gut, it shoves him away from her.

Distracted by her new opponent, the two pirates look to each other and shrug. They bellow out a call of "attack!" and jump onto Katara's turned back. She stumbles forward, but rolls off their advances with a drop forward, causing both men to fly over her in a heap.

The parrot's head bobs in time to its mimic, "attack the curoxy, attack the curoxy!" The lizard bird's taunting cry circles above the Blue Spirit.

The Blue Spirit looks above with a disgruntled shake of his mask. He reaches for his broad sword and makes wide sweeping gestures at the scraggly animal. The blade finally nips at a wing. The lizard bird yelps indignantly, while flapping up to the nearest building's roof for safety, "Crazy Blue Spirit, crazy Blue Spirit!"

The two pirates corner Katara, each one trying to make a grab at her. With the solid building behind her, Katara knows her back is protected from potential offensives. She begins to alternate back and forth between the men. The skinny one with a hanging earring is lithe and quick. She copies his movements with blocking parries. The broader pirate is heavier with his attacks; Katara avoids his pummels with dodging techniques. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the Blue Spirit run sideways along the wall. In a concurrent register of impressive shock and weighted dispirit that she has now three combatants to ward off, Katara hears an old echo of a paternal rebuke, _"Katara, it is never cowardice to know you are outnumbered, escape, so you can rise stronger._ " She wants to knock some sense into her thick skull that she should have escaped when she had the chance, even when she thought the Blue Spirit was Sokka; but all her energy which should be directed to proper beratement must be channeled to avoid the real attacks, not metaphorical ones.

Landing open legged crouch in front of Katara, the Blue Spirit holds out his sword and arm as a shield. Confused by his vulnerable stance and simultaneous bearing of protection, Katara doesn't allow herself time to decipher this demon's motives. She grabs his free arm to swing him out of her way. With a yank, the Blue Spirit lurches Katara forward, making a wide arc kick straight into the skinny Pirate's jaw, who manages to yell testily before contact, "No fair, two against two."

The skinny pirate barely finishes his words, before the wide side of Katara's heavy boot makes contact with his long, angular jaw. As his face follows her blow's trajectory, a gold tooth flies out of pirate's mouth, bouncing across the pavers. The pirate falls to the ground, clamoring after his precious golden molar.

The other pirate roars with anger and charges at Katara and the Blue Spirit. The blue and white grinning mask and a girl with a black and blue cheek and dried blood next to her mouth nod at each other. They both stand ready as the irate pirate barrels forward with his head down as a battering ram.

The Blue Spirit flies effortlessly up into the air and alights onto pirate's back. The confused man stands, trying to throw the Blue Spirit off. This action makes the pirate's face level to receive the brunt force of Katara's roundhouse kick. Two front teeth are knocked out and blood gushes from pirate's nose.

The skinny pirate manages to locate his gold tooth a short distance away from Yon Ra, who begs, "help me!"

"Help you?" The skinny pirate protests in anger, while shoving his gold tooth back into his mouth. "You tricked us!" Seeing his comrade's state, he yanks out a knife from his boot and cuts the rope free from the truck's bumper. Yon Ra rolls away with relief. "You better hide under the nearest rock, Yon Ra, we're coming for you!" Calling out an indistinct signal, the skinny pirate runs to the front of the truck and clamors inside. The other pirate blindingly staggers after his leader, getting into the passenger's side.

Katara and the Blue Spirit watch the scene unfold, both readied. They follow the men as they enter the truck and slam the doors. The engine revs and swerves away. Gunning, the truck faces the Blue Spirit and Katara, gunning it speeds toward the both of them. The Blue Spirit seizes Katara's arm and leaps upwards, clutching onto a raised metal staircase. As the truck passes, a silver flash of knife whizzes out from the passing driver's window into the leg of the Blue Spirit. Crying out, he lets go of Katara who clatters to the ground. Her head and body hit the pavers with a thud. Blurrily, she tries rising but collapses unconscious.

Katara groans. Her head throbs and body aches. She starts with the last memory of battle and pushes to sitting. The motion makes her dizzy; her stomach lurches in protest at the sudden movement. She swallows down the rise of bile that coats the inside of her mouth. Lowering slowly, her cheek rests against something soft and warm. She runs her hand over it and dips and ebbs with the motion. She opens her eyes and sees blue satin.

Gingerly rolling to her side, Katara dimly makes out blue patterned saxifrage wallpaper which reaches up to the crown moldings. As she rotates onto her back, a chandelier tinkles from the breezes whisking through the balcony's open doors. Miraculously, Katara is back in her temporary bedroom.

Everything aches, but knowing she must assess the damage and heal it before Hakoda's knowing eyes detect something amiss, forces Katara from the fluffy bed's comforter. Sliding off the mattress, she tentatively places pressure on her feet to ensure proper stability. Satisfied, she stands. The bathroom is located only steps away, but it seems like an ocean league for the amount of piercing pain she endures walking there. Katara manages to reach the cold tile, ignoring the magic light switch. The only thing she trusts is her element.

The taps of the bath gush with water, pouring into the deep tub. Katara's body tingles with relief as she slips beneath the soothing, warm liquid. It slides and coats her body. Leaning back, she shuts her eyes and the water begins to glow blue. She must have dozed off and only sputters awake after sliding beneath the water. The bath overflows with the combination of her sinking further down into the tub and taps still rushing with fresh water. She quickly sits up and twirls the golden knobs, shutting off the flow of water. Inspecting herself, she runs hands along her skin to check for broken bones or needed spots to heal. When she darts over her nipples, she pauses as the memory of Yon Ra stroking himself folds into focus. She shakes off her remembered revulsion and finishes the small areas left to heal on her face and head. Leaning over, she pulls out the plug and throws it over the side of the tub. As she stands up, Sokka bursts into the bathroom.

The door strikes against the wall, Sokka breathes frantically inside the inner room. His fear and guilt at persuading his sister to leave the safety of the palace are assuaged at the sight of her. "Katara, Thank Yue!" Noticing his standing sister, glistening from the water and fully naked, he scrambles backward in alarm. His feet shuffle quickly in the pooling water which spilled from the tub. His feet slide out from beneath him. He screams, "My eyes!" With a hand shielding his eyes, Sokka attempts to get up and flea, but only manages to tumble into the puddle of water again. "My eyes are burning, naked baby sister, naked baby sister!"

Katara is elated, then beyond irritated at her brother's antics. For goodness sakes, they were bathed together as children. It's not like he hadn't seen her naked before. She angrily throws the nearest item to her, which is a towel. "Sokka, you came into my bathroom, remember."

The fleecy cloth whirls around Sokka's head in a flourish. He whips it off and tosses it back at his sister. Katara catches it, holding the towel in front of her. Sokka carefully turns away to stand, only to have Hakoda barrels into the room, knocking Sokka back into the puddle.

Whipping out a dagger, Hakoda frantically searches the bathroom, poised to attack.

"Dad, it's only us!" Sokka folds his hands over his head.

"Katara, Sokka, are you alright?" Hakoda bleary-eyed takes in the setting of his daughter in a towel and Sokka cowering on the floor. He moves into the interior that has only one entrance and scans the area with his dagger poised.

Katara is flustered that her bathroom has become the reunion juncture for her family. "Dad, I'm fine." She adds dryly, "Sokka may not be that fine, but we technically we're all fine."

Sokka declares, "Of course, I'm not fine! I'm scarred for life."

Hakoda lowers his blade and sheaths it back in his belt, where it is always kept safe and readied for a potential invasion. He rarely sleeps well and had taken a small dreamless draught before bed that evening. It had been debated, but the weight of tiredness which could dampen his daylight instincts proved convincing enough that he should take the sleeping aid. He dragged from a blissful sleep, with the panicked wailing of his son. Hakoda almost levitated in bed from the sound.

Hakoda glares disgruntled at Sokka. "Shut it, son, you do not get to be righteous after bursting in on your sister while she is taking a bath."

While her father rightfully reprimanded Sokka, Katara steps from the tub and secures the towel around her body. "Dad, it's fine. Everyone is jumpy since arriving here at the palace."

Sokka stands up and dusts off his soaking clothes with contrived nonchalance. "Exactly, how you cannot be jittery with this snake-pit of a royal family ready to strike at any minute. Makes perfect sense, thanks, Katara." He glances over surreptitiously at his sister, who is now concealed behind a giant towel. "I'm sorry, I startled you."

Katara smiles lovingly. Her irritation is overridden by seeing her brother safe and unharmed. "That's alright, Sokka. Thanks for worrying about me."

Sokka shakes his head, almost with panicked recollection. "You don't know how very sorry I am to have seen you. Like way," he stretches out the last part with extra emphasis until he finally has no breath left to speak. Inhaling, he gasps out, "way disgusting to see you."

"I said," Katara adds sharply, "It's alright, Sokka." She hugs her body tightly. He didn't have to react like she was some hideous vulture-weasel.

Hakoda perceptively scrutinizes both of his children. He knew their propensity for mischief. Either the effects of the draught still lingered or his exhaustion from the trip and impending days clouded his better judgment, but Hakoda didn't feel like slogging through his children's mixture of lies and truth that they deftly intertwined. Wearily, he turns around. "The moon has almost gone to sleep. If we want to survive the royal pomp and circumstance, we all should retire to our beds."

Sokka moves over to his sister. He quickly tries mouthing his cavalcade of questions. Katara's lips quietly fire out her own queries. Hakoda clears his throat. "I believe I was clear, to bed!"

Both children file out of the room past their father. As Sokka passes, Hakoda squeezes his son's upper arm with love and nods his appreciation for watching out for his sister. Sokka's chest puffs out with pride, and he almost struts to his own bedroom. As Katara slips by, Hakoda pulls her to him. He hugs her close. Katara sags against her father's solid and protective chest. She wants to blurt out the evening escapades, crying about the fear from being taken, the shame at her violation, and pride at managing to defend herself. She keeps the truth locked away. For no matter how much she longed to tell him, all the evenings' happenings would pale compared to the pressing sadness she would sustain for seeing her father's disappointment that she broke his edict to not leave the palace.

Hakoda rests his cheek against his daughter's wet hair. The smell of spring on the tundra always seems to float around Katara. The worry that he might have faltered in his paternal duty by bringing Katara to a palace, which is built upon blocks of treachery encroaches upon him. Yet, he had learned by early as a Chief of their dwindling village, the bitter price of hard choices, and so must his daughter and soon-to-be sole heir, learn the high cost of responsibility. "Katara, promise me, you'll always stay true to yourself and the Southern Tribe's values."

Katara whispers, "By the moon, father, I promise."

Hakoda follows suit in a low voice as if in a prayer, "By the moon."

After Hakoda closes Katara's bedroom door, she drops her towel. She searches through her drawers and locates a night dress and places it over her body. Katara wearily climbs into her bed, pulling the thick comforters to her chin. At last, a deep sleep claims her and she descends into the dream world. Katara isn't a stranger to dreams. They frequent her nights, especially long, cold winters on the tundra slopes of her homeland.

Sensuous warm water covers her. The sensation of luxury was the first thing she feels before the images appear from the blackness of her mind. She basks in its heady vibrations, which tingle her and fondle her skin in light touches. Her arms began to glide through the liquid with fluid strokes.

Turning over and over, the pleasure of embracing her element consumes her. A distant humming travels through the waters and up her body. It thrums deliciously, pulling her seductively towards the origin. She swims closer and three black chords appear from the void. Snaking nearer to Katara, the black ropes dance in a hypnotic carnal manner, guiding her ever closer to its waiting embrace. A feeling of peace descends as she lets herself be navigated. Abruptly, her body becomes rigid. She raises her drooping head as if it an awakening daze.

The black snakes snap in fury. They move in tighter mesmerizing circles entrancing Katara with their writhing motions. She finds herself drifting nearer. The black ropes resume their coaxing formation. As Katara's gets closer, her body stiffens and seems to recoil upon itself. The black tar-like ropes divide in rage, multiplying exponentially. The clear water churns into a black ooze. Rope-like extensions begin to shoot towards her.

Katara shudders with absolute fright. She finds herself clawing through the water with arduous effort. Her breathing is frantic and quick as she desperately tries to get away from the gathering black ooze. She carves through the thickened liquid, getting weaker with each labored effort. With a wrathful screech, the ooze sends out a long tendril of black. The oozing fingers grab hold of her leg, coiling upwards. She glances back and the eerie grin of the Blue Spirit and its jutting incisors smile back as it pulls Katara towards its opening mouth.

"Wake up!" Screams through her whole being with piercing cadence.

Katara bolts up in bed, breathing heavily. She looks around frantically and takes in the items of her bedroom. The balcony curtains billow, revealing the first fingers of the sun stretching beyond the horizon. Her blankets are twisted and she is damp with sweat, but everything is the same.

 _It's only a dream_ , Katara repeats in a calming mantra. Leaning down, she begins to straighten the covers. Throwing back the comforter and sheets, she reveals her legs. A black braid winds up her leg, ending at the crest of inner thigh of an impression clawing fingers.

The tiredness and confusion are eradicated with the mounting apprehension over the mark. Katara tries rubbing at it, but it feels sticky and tar-like to touch. She panics and races into the bathroom. She scratches at the blackened imprint with her fingernails, but it won't come off. The more she scrubs, the more it remains. Her skin soon looks raw and starts to bleed. She finally resolves to turn on the water, ignoring her fear at her dream. She sits on the edge of the tub, sticking her leg underneath the rushing water. Holding her hand next to her leg, it glows blue. Slowly the blackness ebbs away. The sun has fully yawned awake before Katara has managed to successfully remove all traces of the black circuitous line. The mark may be gone, but Katara can still feel it upon her, embedded beneath her skin.

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 **A/N** : I tried to make this extra long. I put in my favorite, Blue Spirit and pirates! Warning about updates, school is beginning. I will be swamped with projects and other writing. It may be a while before I can get out another chapter. That said, I will do my very best. I admit, I got things done in record speed because of your reviews, so keep them coming, dear reading public. Cheers!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Happy Valentine's Day. Whether you have a real Valentine or not, you are my dear Valentine! I heart all my fans and reviewers so much. Chocolate candy and flowers go to ML8991, who encourages me frequently with a PM and a great discussion, I really appreciate your devotion. Heart shaped, _Be Mine_ , candies go to my new reviewers, thanks for bringing me such joy: nameless but appreciated guests, and of course, KafKafKaf, and Ady. Roses are Red and Violets are true blue with your story follows, following, & favorites: Shivisdivis & seekerofloststories.

 **Disclaimer:** I heart Zutara, but can't claim the magic of _Avatar the Last Airbender_.

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Zuko drives his monocycle far below the upper city. The single wheel rotates around him, while he rushes past the walls of flowing lava. A red river runs in viscous sheets, funneling into the earth, glowing with bright flecks of flickering molten yellow. Zuko doesn't notice the lava's red cast of light which creates an eerie ambiance; his monocycle's helmet is equipped with night vision. It penetrates the darkness and shades the surroundings with green tones. His right foot pushes down on the pedal, increasing his velocity. The engine hums slightly louder but is otherwise silent. As Zuko races through the tunnel, the wall of lava morphs from a thick stream intermixed with solid black ribbons to gradually hardening into a porous wall. The stretch of pumice is the signal that the garage, beneath the royal palace, is nearing.

Typing in a radio code on the monocycle's hand clutch, Zuko looks up to see a solid metal archway, with long bands of rivets upon the gate, forms an imposing impediment. The portcullis looms larger as his speeding monocycle approaches it. The radio signal triggers unseen gears to groan; hidden mechanics part the giant metal doors, which separate down the middle, rolling into the side pumice walls. Zuko hasn't paused in his driving; the distance and timing of the radio signal have made the opening large enough for him. As the monocycle passes beneath the monolith archway, a grinding sound emits. The doors reverse, slowly closing again.

Lights flash in succession over Zuko's appearance, brightly at first but gradually adjust to an acceptable level. A warm glow settles around the wrought iron chandeliers, reflecting off the wooden ceiling's shiny coating and creating illuminated pools on the vast subterranean area's copper colored floor. The white columns, widely spaced apart with their fluted capitals, stand upon immense bases and sheer breadth of the carved pillars indicate the working purpose and that the ornamentation is secondary. Zuko steers into a vacant parking space, next to the other docked fleet of monocycles. Switching off the handle, the engine ceases. Removing the brass key, he pockets it. Zuko kicks down the small propping stand and then swings his leg over the steering and engine components. Removing his helmet, he places it on the leather seat and moves to the back of the monocycle, where the balancing wing is located. Zuko depresses a button and a panel flips open. Drawing out the cable, he plugs it into the only empty slot along the plaster wall. The heavy pronged switch next to port is resistant to being raised but then suddenly gives way and snaps into the upward position. Two parallel copper wires heat and flash; blue energy funnels up in consecutive pulses as the monocycle recharges.

Zuko opens a hatch near the monocycle's extended cable and pulls out a satchel. Slinging it over his shoulder, he strides toward the circular elevator that is in the center of the underground complex. He passes other fantastical machines and engineering marvels, each categorized according to its purpose. Zuko reaches the key repository, located next to the elevator. Empty canisters are lined up in the cage return, taking one, as another rolls into place; he unscrews the metal top from the glass canister and drops the brass key inside it. The vessel is shoved into the glass tubing, where it is quickly sucked up and disappears into the wooden ceiling. Anxiety grips Zuko when he pulls down on the elevator's call pulley. He doesn't want to face his uncle or cousin and report upon another failed mission. A conical cage descends from the ceiling onto the concrete flooring. The elevator's decorative outer metalwork has been fashioned over the wooden passenger cab; steel bars have been contorted to form crisscrossing dragon lilies.

Mahogany elevator doors with pearl inlay immediately slide open. Zuko had calculated the evening for success, hoping to avoid his typical slap-dash affair. Stepping inside the opulent interior, he reaches over to the side panel and turns the gold knob to the fourth floor. The doors seal shut automatically. The slow ascent upwards is marked by the steady grind of gears and pulleys, guiding the elevator car up the long shaft. Zuko sinks down onto the plush carpet out of sheer exhaustion and frustration. _This night was a complete waste._ The resonance of reproach reverberates into the mocking cackle of Azula and withering derision of his father. His leg violently kicks his satchel across the plush, red carpet. The bag bounces against the wall and flops open, with the Blue Spirit mask tumbling out.

The blue and white visage lies on the deep pile of carpet face up; its gaping grin mocking Zuko. Staring at the white rimmed eyes and jutting incisors, the black eye holes create a phantasmal abyss. The mask blankly stares at Zuko with watchful judgment. He knows all too well about the power of measuring a situation. Behind the disguise, he experiences the freedom rarely enjoined in his daily existence. When he slips on the Blue Spirit persona, he possesses an ability to be agile in situations. The power courses through him that he, alone, warrants swift justice or grants clemency. Hiding in the shadows, Zuko is no longer tethered by royal and family politics. It was one of the reasons he agreed to take on the covert work. The other, his uncle and cousin had asked him.

 _Iroh had placed his hand lovingly upon Zuko's shoulder. "My boy, this is dangerous work, but I trust you alone."_

 _Zuko bows his head under the honor, but feels conflicted and glances at his cousin. "What of Lu Ten?" Doubt evident in Zuko's voice, he whispers roughly. "Cousin, you are much more adept than me at such things. I would only mangle it."_

 _Lu Ten speaks with the same sure poignancy as his father had uttered. "Brother," Zuko jerks upward at the rarely uttered endearment. "The level of your qualms about yourself pale in how much Father and I believe in you." Lu Ten reaches out and squeezes Zuko's other shoulder, as Iroh's hand has not faltered from its opposite perch. Lu Ten continues, "My obligations are elsewhere. I cannot do this covert work, and you are the only one that..." he glances at his father, who nods with conviction. "That we both trust to carry out something so important." he emphatically stresses the word that equates their feeling of having a few stalwart confidants who are truly loyal. The vulnerability in Zuko's eyes dissipates and is replaced with fierce determination. Lu Ten and Iroh smile at each other over Zuko's transformation._

The Blue Spirit was born. Zuko needed the cloak of anonymity to ferret out who was orchestrating the underground slave trade, locate the puppet master who yanks upon the strings of a spreading pestilence. The nefarious slave operation entraps more each day as Imperial City floods with refugees. The Imperial Police force is ineffectual, stymied by false leads and bribes to cause the bureaucratic wrangling to grind from plodding to absolute lethargy. Zuko had spent months in subterfuge, following leads into dead-end alleys and abandoned warehouses. Until, the winds of fortunate had him stumble upon two minions, a skinny pirate and his more muscled cohort. He followed them to another dead-end, which seemed to bear the fruit of such promise.

Zuko rests the back of his head against the elevator's mahogany wall. Gears and chains wind upwards with a predictable pattern, each tick chimes out how the two pirates had to be the connection link, funneling potential slaves into a transport system for wider disbursement. The pirates' simpleton antics only confirmed they were mere instruments in a much wider network. Zuko was convinced he was finally being led to the main operative base, positive it would lead him to the leader. He would finally find the main artery to cauterize or at least how the information on potential shipments was received.

 _Ursa's voice gently mentally chides, "Zuko, darling, those individuals are people and must be treated with respect."_

Zuko shakes his head in disgust that he referred to human lives as nothing more than cargo. It was exactly the kind of dispersion Azula or his father would place upon those they considered beneath them, simply because they weren't born royal.

The dull throbbing in Zuko's leg hasn't abated since he pulled the knife from his calf. Leaning over his bent legs, he carefully rolls up his pants leg. The black leggings catch on the charred wound, matted with blood and burnt flesh. The speediest method to quickly stop the flow of blood and allow him to carry Lady Katara had been to sear the wound. He had been briefly entranced by the flickering flames, glowing and snapping on his palm. The beauty of his element rarely gave him pause to marvel at its bewitching beauty. As he moved the flames closer to his flesh, he had to time precisely the actions of yanking out the knife and his hand upon his skin. They were performed in agonizing successions of each other and all with him managing to not black out. The presence of pain and the hallmarks which are left have long been a part of his life.

Sitting on the floor of the elevator, Zuko's hand reaches up to his left eye. He can feel the deep ridges of the mark. His oblong eye is forever altered into that shape as is his general appearance. His eyeball flutters beneath his palm. He can feel it in the socket, searching his mind for memories of the accident. The time, before his face had been ravaged, was a blank expanse of emptiness. His farthest recollection could only be traced to an endless melding of nights and days, where physicians hovered with elixirs, and priests chanted prayers. Zuko's own raging internal agony was silent; because his injuries prevented his voice from emitting the shrieks of an all-consuming agony. Eventually, his throat healed enough for him to rasp out pitiful screams of pain; until a series of perpetual draughts drowned all his misery into a hazy vacuum of sleep. His hand follows his scar's furrows which wrap over his withered ear and into his hairline. His fingers finish by slipping through his thick hair, cropped into the short fashion of the day.

Zuko knocks the back of his head against the elevator's wall as he recounts how he had pursued the truck, leaving his monocycle concealed with dirty laundry, a providential abandoned basket had been near the palace. Zuko had traveled over building and apartment rooftops. Flat or steep, he sprinted and stayed abreast with the darting truck. He had been tempted to follow the outbursts and anti-royal propaganda emanating from the courtyard of the two-headed dragon fountain; yet he wouldn't and couldn't be diverted from his mission, not when he had gotten his best lead. When the truck squealed to stop, he clung to the side of the building and saw a woman fighting a sniveling man.

 _After all this time, the leader of the slavers was a woman?_

The idea was preposterous. Zuko pulled out his thin brass case from his holster belt. Pushing a button, the eyeglasses popped open. He put them on his head and adjusted the various dials to bring the woman's face into focus. Her identity had been familiar, but he couldn't place her immediately. The cowering man before her swinging rope wore a rather filthy Imperial Guard uniform. She had quickly disposed of the guard, shackling him to the truck's passing bumper. She fled, not pausing to inspect her handiwork. Zuko wasn't about to let the leader slip from grasp. He pocketed his binoculars while dropping from the building, landing in front of the evading woman. The woman's shirt was ripped open, her breast exposed, dried blood on the side of her mouth, and eye swelling black and blue. In an instant, Zuko comprehended that the guard was not performing his duty, but in the act of possibly raping this woman. Her state filled Zuko with fury to crush the man who dared violate her, but the impulse to pummel the man was momentarily quelled by the fierceness upon her countenance. It was then her vague resemblance meshed into a dawning revelation that this battered and strong woman was in fact, Lady Katara, the same young woman he had met that morning.

 _How and why was Lady Katara with the slavers?_

Before Zuko could have pondered the reasons, Katara had wrapped her arms around him with such abandoned joy. Exhaling relief over Zuko's appearance, he was taken aback. She mentioned Sokka and then the pieces began to puzzle themselves into a semblance of sense that she didn't recognize him but assumed for some inane reason thought Zuko was her older brother. Zuko couldn't and shouldn't reveal his identity. Months of work would be obliterated with the mere telling utterance of one syllable.

The feel of Katara's embrace was so comforting and effortless. She pressed herself tightly against Zuko, almost as if she felt cradled by him. Terror had laced Katara's words with a more obvious edge, as she felt herself relax into the comfort of her presumed brother. She had been scared. Zuko could hear it and feel it in her subtle quaking. Katara's obvious familial connection was palpable and left him momentarily confused. A sister seeking solace, rather than delighting in tormenting her brother, was a foreign concept to Zuko and Azula's relationship. Zuko's only experience with sibling feeling consisted of tension and antipathy.

The elevator groans to a stop; the doors automatically slide open. Zuko stands, bending down to retrieve his satchel and the Blue Spirit mask. Looking at the slashes of blue and white with prominent incisors, he appreciates the disguise. Fighting with Katara, he had felt even more daring than normal. Their fluid interchanges were well matched, and their timely blows had been dealt deftly. Zuko shoves the mask into the bag's interior secret compartment and then slings it over his shoulder. He moves wearily down the hallway. His feet are soundless upon the patterned diamond carpet.

Previous excursions had Zuko debriefing in his uncle's apartments. This evening, he didn't relish seeing the jovial man's face and then disappointing him with the same report of another failed mission. Zuko walks down a side hall and reaches his room. Turning the gold knob, he pushes open the heavy wooden door and shuts it behind him. A substantial fireplace with marble mantle is a prominent fixture; a tapestry of the duel-headed dragon hangs above it. The only illumination is from the burning embers in the hearth. Low yellow flames dance among the pile of smoldering red and create a dim radiance to the room. A general darkness aided by the heavy draperies over the window alcove give a somber ambiance which Zuko prefers. His bedroom is smaller compared to the guest quarters or the typical royal family abode; yet, it is the room's size which provides the needed sanctuary and a sense of respite whenever Zuko enters it. The exposed limestone walls are the primary adornments to design, rather than wallpaper. A recessed portion of the stone has an archway which is the width of his heavy bed; thick curving spindles anchor the bed's four corners. Near the fireplace is a robust wardrobe, which houses his personal effects and clothes. It is this streamlined efficiency which had Zuko reduce the normal servant retinue to a personal valet, who was trained to only appear when summoned.

Zuko opens the wardrobe, a robust piece of furniture. He places the satchel inside. A soft sigh is simultaneous uttered. The sound gives him pause. He is alert with his senses, but his motions indicated a casual ignorance. Subtle, the utterance could be attributed to anything or anyone. It could also be relegated to inconsequential if not heard by someone who is trained to be attuned. His eyes peer into the darkness, but the fireplace creates shifting shadows that dance, his own presence adding to the spectral confusion. His fingers run along his holster, unsnapping and removing his knife. A breathy sigh is emitted; he knows someone is present. He moves forward; the blade held forth as he creeps with a subtle crouching of the shoulders. The fire's yellow flames gleam upon the poised blade, _Never give up without a fight_ , glitters an engraved warning.

"Hello, brother," Azula drolls out. Her typical derisive delivery finishes with a slight hitch.

Tension immediately fills the air. Zuko carefully controls his wary feelings. "Azula?" A question issued rather than a demand, as he strains to listen and see what altered her intonation.

A lamp light flashes, creating a circular brilliance around Azula. She is seated behind Zuko's desk which is situated in front of the window's alcove. The brass desk lamp with green shade shows that Azula's head is dropped back. Her normal elaborate hair style is piled into a loose bun. She looks up. There is a slight flush to her cheeks. "Isn't that quaint, you were worried about me." Azula arches her perfect eyebrow at Zuko's drawn knife.

Sheathing the blade quickly, Zuko quells his embarrassment over assuming Azula needed his assistance with anything. "What are you doing in my room?"

Azula moves her head around the modest room, taking in its paltry size and possessions. "More of a servant's quarters than a room befitting a prince, but then again you were always odd."

Zuko's voice is hard with bitterness. He's in no mood to banter with his sister's twisted wit. "Azula, what do you want?"

"Now, is that any way to greet your sister?" Azula pauses. She throws her head back briefly, and her eyes flutter as she makes a final gasp. Sitting up more fully, she wets her lips; a languid demeanor has settled upon her face and body. A slow smile is upon her lips. "That will be enough, thank you." Emerging from underneath the desk is a male servant; his lips are swollen and glisten. He moves to the side and bows close to his mistress. Azula reaches out to the servant's engorged lips and runs a sharp tipped finger over them which are slick to the touch. Popping the same finger into her mouth, she draws it out slowly with approval. "I do taste delightful." She subtly tilts her head in the servant's direction. "You're welcome."

"You had to do that in my room?" Zuko is more outraged than embarrassed that Azula is so obvious in her violation to his premises.

"Zuzu, you are so old fashioned." The chair is pushed away with a fluid motion as Azula stands. A pink dressing gown with matching tassels topped with a braided infinity symbol runs the length of the silk robe. Wide cuffs, folded to her elbows, have the same dangling tassels. A series of ties cinch in her waist but don't close the dressing gown fully, allowing the sheer lace of her nightdress to be shown.

"Don't call me that!" The despicable nickname is aimed to inflict the right amount of hurt.

"What? Don't call you Zuzu or old fashioned? Both are true."

Zuko isn't in the mood to deal with his sister's shifting antics that aim to confuse and distort his perception. "Get out, Azula!"

Azula moves around the desk and beckons the servant who is standing at rigid attention. He has hardly flinched or reacted to the sibling interchange. His face is still gleaming with the effects of rendering Azula's climax. She ignores Zuko's demand to cease the nickname. "Zuzu, you really need to loosen up. Perhaps, my servant could help alleviate your obvious tension." The servant dutifully follows his mistress's suggestion. Without prompting, he moves in front of Zuko and kneels in front of prince's crotch.

Zuko scrambles away and barks, "I said, get out! The both of you!"

Azula chuckles, "You heard the prince, he issued an order. You must obey. Run along and don't forget to tidy yourself." The servant stands up stiffly and moves silently out of the room. Neither sibling follows the servant's movements; Zuko and Azula are locked in a mutual battle of competing wills. The click of the door signals the servant's departure.

"I said, you too," Zuko growls.

"I came for a simple visit with my brother, who I love so dearly." The endearment drips with sarcasm. Azula strides over to Zuko with purposeful steps. Her dressing gown wafts behind her, which presses her nightdress close to her body. The firelight highlights her nakedness beneath the gauzy lace, accentuating the smooth skin of her womanly privates. "Here, I only wanted a simple chat with you. There's no reason to be uncordial. Part of your problem with Father is you're too uptight; you need to relax and be more confident in your actions."

Zuko blurts out a protective veneer of denial. "Father and I are fine." He knows his father doesn't prefer his company, and Azula's reminder only makes Zuko's chest constrict slightly.

Azula steps closer to her brother. "Of course, you are, which is why I deigned to wait for you in your pitiful apartments." Her face is slightly lower than his, but she manages to assume a more dominant air. "You plan on attending father's committee meeting tomorrow then?" She glances down at Zuko's black clothing and runs a hand down his costume. "Interesting attire for a night out." Azula raises an eyebrow, "Please tell me, you didn't attend that hideous peasant festival."

"Of course, I am." Zuko's mouth tightens.

Azula splays her hand on Zuko's chest. The red tipped nails scratch subtly at his chest. She walks behind her brother, staying close to Zuko's body, letting her hand trail up his chest and over his shoulder. Zuko stands rigid, feeling tension with each of her movements. Azula presses her length next to his back and leans close to his withered ear. "You are such a bad liar." Stepping away, she moves over to Zuko's open wardrobe. Azula stares at his satchel as she speaks. "No matter, whether you knew or not, the important aspect of this little discussion is that you and I need to be in voting alignment."

"Why?" Zuko's mind is racing, trying to recall how a committee at the tribute time could have possibly been called. Most business is suspended in lieu of handling all the important international delegates.

Azula rolls her eyes and swivels around. "You are the dum dum, aren't you. We must be aligned with our votes in order to counteract Uncle's faction, of course." A melodic whistle bounces and lilts down the passageway towards Zuko's room. "Speak of the devil."

Zuko's eyes narrow threateningly, "Don't call him that."

Azula shrugs, "Are we in agreement? You'll vote as I do."

Zuko glares at his sister. "Counter to your opinion of me, I'm not your lap dog. I'll vote as I please."

"Too bad, here I thought we could have such a pleasant bonding moment." Azula flicks a glance at the turning knob. "It seems you are more the lap dog for Uncle than your own flesh and blood family."

The statement is meant to hurt Zuko, but he learned a long time ago to not value anything Azula had to say. He believes that is true, even though the throbbing within his scar counters it. Spitting with vehemence, he steps closer. "Rather him than you, any day."

Iroh opens the door gaily, hailing out a pleasant greeting, "Good evening, dear nephew or perhaps I should say good morrow." Iroh's face loses its relaxed ease. "Pardon me, Azula, I didn't know you were present."

"Uncle, Azula was just leaving." The flames of the fireplace flash brighter with the heat of enmity from Zuko.

Azula does a small bow in front of Iroh, "Uncle." She turns to Zuko, and the side of her mouth curls up. "Yes, I need to get my beauty sleep for tomorrow." She leans in and kisses Zuko's cheek and whispers. "I'm only trying to help, don't make a mistake that you'll regret, Zuzu."

Iroh backs away to allow Azula to pass and nods his head slightly to his departing niece, who brushes past her uncle without acknowledging a proper leaving courtesy. Iroh is careful of her, always aware of her poisonous strike. He utters with a bland politeness, "Azula."

The tension of the room abates at the shut of the door. Zuko runs a hand through his hair. His mind is flooded with rage and questions.

Iroh walks over to the fireplace and peers down at the flames, which dance more fully and without the influx of fuel. He places his hands behind his back. His navy blue dressing gown is covered with royal insignia and the design is repeated on his matching cravat. The cuffs of his night shirt cover his hands, a light blue print of eel hounds. Iroh's words are carefully measured in broaching the sensitive topic of his niece. "Now, what possibly could have prompted Azula's visit this evening?"

Zuko blurted out, "Uncle, Father is having a committee meeting tomorrow. Did you know of it?"

Iroh takes a deep breath with almost an audible, _And so it begins_. "Yes, I did."

A hurt cry cracks out. "Why wasn't I told?"

"Zuko, my boy, I only found out about it late this evening. After you had gone out, or I would have told you. When you didn't stop by my apartment, I came to see if everything was alright, but also to tell you of the meeting." Iroh voice infuses with contempt for his niece. "But it seems that Azula delighted informing you, herself."

Zuko storms across to his wardrobe and rips off his shirt, tossing it inside. The black cloth lands next to his satchel. "Father doesn't trust me."

Iroh comes over and places his hand on Zuko's shoulder. "It has nothing to do with that, and everything to do with Ozai wanting to ensure the least amount of people will attend, in order to maximize his voting favor."

"I don't care." Zuko knew that statement sounded like a lie to even him. "I will show up to that meeting tomorrow and vote as I please."

Iroh spoke gently, "As you should and is your right as part of the noble council." Trying to reverse the tide of machinating alliances that could wait until tomorrow to deal with, Iroh inserts jovially, the glee not having to be manifested on pretense but bubbles with relish. "Have you had any tea?"

Zuko rolls his eyes and chuckles. "No, Uncle, I have not."

Iroh moves to the side of the wardrobe and yanks on the call pull, concealed by the breadth of the wardrobe. "I believe Chamomile and lavender will soothe you. I can only assume if Azula is involved, your conversation was an unpleasant interchange."

Reflecting upon Azula defiling Zuko's room with her presence and act of pleasure, Zuko snorts in response. He knows Azula derived much more satisfaction from needling her brother than the servant's dutiful arousal to her erogenous zone.

Iroh takes Zuko's sound as an affirmation even though Iroh knows much more must have transpired if his niece was involved. "How was the evening's mission?"

Zuko's dread floods him. He draws back his defined shoulders, chiseled with his Warder training. "I managed to located and track two pirates who seem to be the connection point for obtaining slaves."

"Wonderful, my boy. Where is the drop off point?"

"It was an alley not far from the two-headed dragon fountain. However, I'm not sure if that is where the drop-off is consistently or for only that evening." Zuko relays the story of the pirates and Iroh's face gets delighted with each element told. Zuko braces himself as he imparts the next bit of surprising information. "Lady Katara was apparently in the process of being abducted into slavery."

"Did you stop them?" Iroh responds quickly, fearful for the girl and her safety.

"Actually, she stopped them herself." Zuko explains how Katara had signally rendered an Imperial Guard immovable, negating to mention her potential rape at the guard's hands. The rest of the evening's story is regaled with the final telling mention of the knife wound. "The pirates' truck escaped. I couldn't chase after it with Lady Katara knocked unconscious."

"Your wound?" Iroh glances at Zuko's leg.

"It's nothing."

"Zuko," Iroh demands sternly. "Sit down and I will determine whether it is nothing."

"Uncle, I cauterized it. The bleeding has stopped."

"Then we must get the healers."

"No!" Revulsion fills Zuko with the mention of healers. "I don't want healers. I promise if I notice any infection, then I will have it more closely tended."

Iroh crosses his arms and grunts his disapproval. The knock at the door and quick response by Iroh sees a servant enter the room with a silver covered tray. "Thank you, Jamison, I would like to have for myself Chamomile and Lavender and for Zuko..." Iroh gives the servant a pointed exchange that communicates Zuko will receive another combination that will aid in deep sleep. Zuko may not think he needs healers, but his uncle has other ideas. Iroh adds for his nephew's benefit. "And for Zuko...the same."

Jamison nods, "Yes, sir, I understand." He moves over to the desk and begins the preparation for the tea. The leaves are combined and steeped, while Iroh and Zuko converse on the next objective for the missions. Ideas are exchanged. Zuko has pulled his desk chair over for his uncle to sit by the fire, while Zuko leans against the mantle. The marble cools his naked skin hot from his churning emotions and fire's flames. With tea cups poised in their hands, Zuko and Iroh each sip their brew. Unaware of the flavors, Zuko accepts his drink as being the same as his uncle's.

Iroh encourages a grumbling Zuko. "There are always leads, my boy, they might be hidden and have not revealed themselves."

"My two leads escaped in the truck." Zuko attempts a dry joke. "Of course, they left me a parting gift."

Iroh chuckles and then leans forward with seriousness. "Nephew, did you save the blade that stabbed you?"

"Yes, it is in my satchel, but..." Zuko smiles with dawning understanding, that the knife has the pirate's fingerprints. "Of course, Uncle, how stupid of me to not realize it. I can use the mechanical dogs to locate the pirate from the knife itself; and then, I can begin to infiltrate the slave operation."

"Exactly." Iroh is pleased that Zuko deduced the quandary himself. Finishing the rest of the tea, Zuko stretches. Iroh rises from the chair. "I will leave you to rest." Stepping closer, Iroh hugs Zuko. "I'm proud of you. You did good work this evening."

Zuko sighs; relieved that he had pleased his uncle, but also that his mission wasn't a failure. "Thank you, Uncle."

Giving a strong clap on Zuko's back, Iroh steps away. "I bid you a good night and hope for a speedy healing."

Zuko clicks his heels and bows to his uncle. Iroh nods toward Jamison. The servant gathers the empty tea cups and replaces everything on the silver tray, covering it with the dome. The servant follows Iroh out into the hall.

Iroh turns to Jamison and says in a low voice. "It should be soon that Zuko has succumbed to a deep sleep. Get the healers and have them attend to his wound."

"Yes, sir," Jamison does not ask for leave but immediately departs to carry out the Crown Prince's orders.

After Iroh had vacated the bedroom, Zuko checks his satchel. The knife with his dried blood rests inside. Shrugging off the rest of his clothes, Zuko dons simple pajama bottoms. He crawls into bed. His blood can sense the approach of dawn, which gives him a few hours of rest before he must face new intrigue at court.

The sheets feel cool as does the pillow. It hadn't been easy to carry Katara back to her apartments. Zuko had to move stealthfully between the Imperial Guards' check points, slipping through a brief blind spot to the servant's tunnel. Luckily, it wasn't during the shift change, so it was completely vacant. He moved through the secret passageways, to the Southern Tribe's apartments. Iroh, as Crown Prince, has a master key to the palace, which he gave to Zuko for the purpose of subterfuge.

Katara had nestled in Zuko's arms, never stirring. He would have been alarmed, if not for the sweet whisper between her lips. He had covered Katara to preserve her modesty; her shirt tucked into the waist of her pants to secure its closure, since the buttons had been ripped off. Zuko wasn't sure how Katara will cover up all her bruises and cuts. As he placed her upon blue comforter within her room, she had sighed and nestled in the bed. Zuko had paused to look at her. Katara had seemed so innocent and young. He couldn't imagine what had transpired for her to become so strong and brave. Even with the bruises, she possessed a beauty that hadn't moved him in a long time. The image of Katara sleeping drifted away into the blackness of a deep sleep, which claimed Zuko.

* * *

 **A/N** : Alright, three chapters for Imperial, I wanted to show appreciation for the love you are giving. However, I HAVE to finish Guardians of the White Lotus. I want that done before the new Guardians of the Galaxy movie comes out. What does that mean for Imperial... **Well, I still need you my faithful!** _With each review, follow, PM and general love you give, it makes me type faster on Guardians, which means a quicker entrance to the next chapter of Imperial._ So please give me the love, it means the world to this writer, who is only paid in accolades.


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